cobaltblue
by Bong Bong Bong
Summary: Wake up! Wake up! Then we'll become good friends, sleeping butterfly.


**Preface:**

I've extracted the "fugue" from Country of Sweets and dumped it out in the open, so as not to have it pollute Country of Sweets any further.

If you might find this work incomprehensible, I agree with you wholeheartedly. I, for one, hate this piece. Somehow it's more post-modern than the end of the world, and that's putting a positive spin to it, mind you. And unless you're looking for a challenge, you're better off not reading this in sequence. The chance of reward for those who do is slim. Just skip to the middle maybe and find some part you fancy or something. This is the furthest thing from novelistic, so there's no point reading it like one.

Anyways, in this piece, I wished to convey a sense of beauty above all. I hope it at least does a teeny bit of that.

A Post-Rebellion work, but I'm sure it'll hardly seem to matter.

* * *

 **for a very long time.**

* * *

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* * *

 **You've been sleeping for a very long time, haven't you?**

* * *

Yes.

In the luminous mist, the sun sank; the myriad mountains were sunset.

* * *

 ** _COBALT_  
**

* * *

In spring - the dawn, the dawn when the first petals of cherry blossom turn a deeper hue of pink and the glassworks of the tall buildings gleam with lights, like the sea on a sunny day, sparkling, blinking in and out - it is that which is beautiful.

Certainly, Hitomi could remember that one day – when she lay on the tatami mat in the evening, her father snoring restfully beside, the bright orange evening, yes, how she felt! Calm. A wave of languor drifted past her mind as the warm, balmy wind wafted by, and she felt! Sleepy. Serenity was that which was beautiful.

In summer - the nights, though unbearably hot and humid, still - when the moon shines, and when it doesn't, and when it rains, and when it doesn't - yes, when occasionally the fireflies flit to and fro, the nights are more beautiful than ever they were, and the long-gone scent of peppermints and violets seem to seep in through the windows - it is then when it is too beautiful to sleep.

Perhaps, Hitomi could remember that day – when she first discovered her feelings for Kyousuke, that sissy-violin-boy. She did not yet know what it was like to be romantically attracted to another, to desire the company of another. And in the beginning, she never really thought much of him. But one day, she heard. Yes. She could remember – hearing, not on the internet, nor on the radio. Not on the streets, nor in the concert halls that she was occasionally obliged to visit. She heard it in her memories. One day, she woke up hearing it in her memories. She heard the piano – a certain Chopin etude, the Aeolian Harp – opus 25, no. 1. It was then that she realised she was in love with that sissy-violin-boy. She wasn't sure of what that entailed of, but she was convinced of her conclusion – and it was that fiery resolution that was too beautiful for her to sleep.

She smiled in fondness.

In autumn - the evenings, the evenings when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of spires and hills, and the magpies fly to their nest in twos, threes, fours – specks of bridges in the distant sky. Those too are beautiful. Yes.

When the sun set, Hitomi's heart was moved by the sound of the wind, the wind that pierced through the cover of the sky, descending downwards, blanketing all that lay beneath, and, yes, the sound of the hum of the insects that filled her hazy vision as she made her way back home only seemed to make the world at dusk all the more fuzzy, indistinct. She sometimes felt like she was floating amidst the vague atmosphere, waiting in anticipation for something she never knew about.

Yes. The way the days loll by. All reasons to wake up in the morning.

Didn't she remember?

And when she was younger, so much younger, on class excursions, she would sometimes sight a distant shooting star beyond the windows she blankly gazed through when bored of conversation - yes, like any other child, she would try to make fervent wishes upon it. Why? Nobody knew. Was it a practice imported from the outside shores, as were the neon lights, frenzied blurs of still-life moments, the bravehearted dream of ambition to expand the borders of the land of the rising sun? Was it the spawns of daemons, disgraced angels, flying oni being cast from the Pure Lands or the divinosphere or wherever they may be from? Or was it, as her grandmother told her, the tears rolling off the faces of Orihime and Hikoboshi? No matter. Just repeat your wish thrice while it's still in the sky, and your wish is all but granted - so she believed, in miracles, magic. But she could never do it.

It always went by too quickly. She could never react fast enough to even conjure a wish in her mind. But she never gave up. Ever ready to avenge herself against the bitter humiliation, she would patiently await the opportunity to spot a stray shooting star – and hope that, surely, one day, she would get to wish upon it. It was that that she found beautiful – the wishing.

Perhaps, she was lucky. In her life, she saw many such shooting stars. She watched them pass her by, waiting.

But today, a warm blood-red sunset stretched as far as the eye could see. Certainly, the day was a quiet, autumn day. As the sunset crept over the hills, their contours dyed a deep orange and wisps of deep purple clouds hang lonesome in the sky, the glassworks of the complex darkened from every corner, heralding the cool darkness of night every

* * *

 ** _Bong. Bong. Bong._**

* * *

where. From the proud belltower reaching high towards the heavens, as the clock struck eight, three chimes of the old bronze bell resounded throughout the now-purpled meadows and the closed-off city walls. The dew that gathered on the blades of leaves gradually trickled down into the soil. A gentle breeze wafted by in the busy streets, bringing to its people a scent of the violets and peppermints which grew in the city's parks in so

* * *

 _Indeed, the day was the same as ever, albeit not for any undesirable reasons._

* * *

me long-forgotten time. Such was what Hitomi thought, as she made her way back home.

But then – yes, she happened to look up – she found a shooting star. It was slower than usual, yes, much slower, but like always, all she could do was marvel at its beauty, the words caught in her throat. Didn't she know? Of course, she knew: that stars shimmered brighter when they were falling. Then it struck her. Maybe, she never did want to wish upon a star. Maybe not.

Far out in the distance, flocks of birds sang their meticulously toned cacophony and flew off westwards, chasing the high sun.

Even then, of the hundreds of people passing by on that busy zebra crossing, she was the only one who bothered to crane her head upwards and direct her gaze high above towards the firmament. It seemed to her like the sky was holding up the star. It seemed to remain fixed in place, shining brighter and brighter as it rocketed.

What was it then? A feverish excitement that she felt? Yes. And she watched the evening star star twinkle brightly, or darkly. As Kyousuke said, but as she sees star she sees star, and she still stands standing still yes, yes, it was – falling, just enough time to make a wish, she wished, but what wish would she wish yes, she did not know, but it was – falling up, or was it – not now – no, yes, down and where? Whence? To the edges of the world, no stars ever fall in Mitakihara. It would be disastrous if they did. They were meant to wander ad infinitum, neverstopping, beyond the telescopic variables that could be comprehended, straying, astronomical vagrants, flitting to and fro imperceptibly from time to splace. But did they? She did not no what wish to make. And what was it to no? What was it to yes? Yes. Maybe it would be bet

* * *

ter if she picked up extra eggs on sale at the supermarket and take a nice walk before people bumped into her yet she, did not stop looking, up down it went – slow,ly maj-estica,lIy, yes, yes, she knew what wish to make – or maybe no – but she was always like that, she was alyways, yes – like that – That! That! That thing!

* * *

 _There was a balmy breeze floating up in the high lofts of the heavens, and it was there where it spent a few fleeting moments cosily_

* * *

Notastar – notshooting, notastar – yes, no, people. Turned! Away. Theycouldn'tseewhatHitomisaw. Too fast, spinning, silver.

* * *

 _showering beams of gentler light like summer shadows, crowning the clouds with a glow of_

* * *

Thenthesunshonesunshone – bright!Bright! No matter. But suddenly; no matter. Why? What – suddenly –

* * *

 _Ambulances and fire engines too were caught in the terrible traffic. There were so many of them. Revving car engines, blaring horns, panicked shouts, ringing bicycle bells – the caterwauling pressed on the people from all_

* * *

Yes, yes, but no – to her it was less than suddenly, accelerondo, precipitato she was used to fasterfasteritfellfaster –

* * *

 _thought she remembered these vivid details. Then, as if all the images of silhouettes idyllically gliding through the air were naught but a mirage, she awoke. She thought she could not remember more of that surreal dream._

* * *

Didn't she remember? No she didn't how could she this was the firstfirsttime, notspring,notsummer,notautumn,notwinter, from it Fell! Fell from a silver mountain! because some things only happen once, then there was no feeling no no, she did not know, knot yet, but no feeling of any kind ha, yes, why, so slowly, stars didn't fall so roma

* * *

 _Misshapen light clouds rested in the sky, stock-still. Cradled by the wind, the trees would rustle and the grass would bend back ever so slightly. Far out in the distance, flocks of birds sang their meticu_

* * *

So it reasoned that autumn evening fixing she with her eye white crane clouds yes silver ess

* * *

 _lously toned cacophony and flew off westwards, chasing the high sun. Sunlight fell upon the water surf_

* * *

 _ **Bong. Bong. Bong.**_

* * *

 _ace of the river, causing it to glitter with the slow streaming of_

* * *

Fixing it with her eyes her tries lest it elude her or she delude herself no, no, she didn't no, without any on her part, her part so on and so forth, but what did it mean? What did it Hitomi did not yes. And all too no no no, but to be or not to be, that is the question – but Hitomi did not no and

in winter the early mornings are beautiful when the snow has fallen atop the plants and frosted the world a deep white punctuated only by the earthy brown and amber of wood houses and pinnacles of statues and electricity poles and all dead still sweet silent as the grave and then she sudd – reali –

Then she heard a loud sound followed by an deafe _ **bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk**_

* * *

 _water._

* * *

ning silence.

Did she find it beautiful as well?

Yes.

Yes.

She did.

Yes. Why should death be any less beautiful than life?

In spring - the dawn, the dawn when the first petals of cherry blossom turn a deeper hue of pink and the glassworks of the tall buildings gleam with lights, like the sea on a sunny day, sparkling, blinking in and out - it is that which is beautiful.

* * *

 _ **"Why do you delay," says he, "Why are you idle? Unless you seize the day, it flees."  
However, even though you seize it, it still will flee.  
**_ _Seneca the Younger_

* * *

That night, Hitomi recollected herself. Standing near the edge of her suite, she looked on out into the city.

In Mitakihara, it is most splendid to observe the breaking light of day, visible no matter where one is, assuming the skies are clear. Rising from beneath the cover of small foothills that dotted the periphery of the city, even the slightest hint of radiance peeking out would result in half the city being slowly illuminated by a regular golden warmth, as the constellations yonder gradually, gently, faded away.

Certainly, the scenery at night too is resplendent, what with countless dots upon dots of streetlights and the city's numerous light fixtures that stud the hills and well-cultivated parks, all of which made for a rather ethereal sight if one were to gaze down at the city from high atop a building or a hilltop.

Even as a child, Hitomi felt it beautiful. The way the city lights looked through a clear glass window, she might have thought the city were looking back at her.

Blinking, blinking – as the lights would sometimes blink, she would sometimes blink back. Be it in hospital visits, or at home, or on the plane, or when crossing the bridge from her neighbourhood to the nearest shrine to ring in the new year, Hitomi had a penchant for scouring the night time landscapes for a glimpse of the city lights.

Perhaps when it rained heavily, and she was caught amidst the heavy weather, forced to take shelter underneath an empty bus-stop, she took comfort in how the distant, muffled lights seemed like metaphorical "lights at the end of the tunnel". Maybe it was in those moments of sudden, subtle weakness that she held such architectural feats higher in regard than that of natural lighting. After all, where the radiance of the sun and the moon were particularly suspect to the whims of nature, man-made lights were impervious to all such trifling fluctuations of weather.

In a way, the city-lights were more constant. They were there to illuminate dark alleyways and comfort citizens in the darkest of nights, staving off sneaky suspicions of horror lurking in the shadows – those atavisms of biology.

But definitely, it was best when the two lights superimposed upon one another, when she could see the city being bathed in moonlight, as it showered itself with various scintillating lights. It was in those times that she felt it all to be phantasmagorical, something straight out of a magic lantern – a nightly kaleidoscope.

When she was younger, so much younger than today, maybe she opened the window to let the light into her room, rather high and with a good vantage point over the city landscape. In too would come along a gentle, moist breeze brimming with the scent of yellow chrysanthemum and white roses, mixed together with a faint whiff of camphor from yesterday's downpour. And perhaps, in those moments, she dreamed that she would, without a moment's due, spread her wings and fly – trying to catch the wandering stars that grazed by. Gazing at the vague yet lucid sight every so often, she would sometimes find herself staring unknowingly at her faint reflection on the window – the mirror of Matsuyama, maybe, she once mused.

She would wonder if her reflection was really just a part of the night sky, or if not – as surreal as the city, sleeping with nightlights. Intrigued by the window's reflective properties, she reached a tentative finger out, only to be mildly surprised at how her reflection followed in time, like a doppelgänger mirroring her every movement, while a faint but deep rumbling of the earth could be heard for a short instance. She could not fathom it; she could not put her finger on it, and she did not put her finger on it. But as insofar as common sense dictated, she had simply to conclude that that young girl in the window – or maybe beyond it – was herself. Decked in, possibly, a plain nightgown, blue as the moonlight filling in the four walls of her room, and adorned with a strange expression of wonderment and idleness, with straight and flowing green hair, she had no choice but to conclude that that was herself.

A thought came to her in the gentleness of night: who was she? And was that – that strange thing – what she looked like? It was in those sorts of times when she favoured the moonlight in favour of the blinking, lively, city lights. As she lifted her hand closer to her face, inspecting, questioning her Hitomi-ness, all she saw were faint curved lines on palms, twisting around one another to form thicker strokes like the bamboos of Tanabata that reached high into some castle in the sky in the fairy tale, Laputa in the Sky. Some of them converged to form **川** – a river running on each hand.

Then, she saw. She saw the moonlight covering those rivers with a soft sheen of calming blue. And down to her fingers, to her toes, to her study desk, to her cabinets and drawers – it illuminated all in the room, and her figure cast vague shadows that were also tinged in a blueish-white hue.

Wide-eyed with a sudden wonderment, she jerked her head out the open window and observed the whole city below – blue, speckled with white. It was that which was beautiful – the gentle blue and blinking white on a cold night.

Perhaps it was then when it came to her: I am who I am, that apparently redundant, teleological answer. Did it make any sense to her? Maybe it did, or maybe it didn't. She couldn't quite tell the difference. Was it stranger for her to be herself, or to be not-herself – whoever herself was? But Hitomi couldn't quite tell the difference. So, maybe, there wasn't a need for such a misplaced awareness of herself, and whatever made her who she was.

And so, that night, she lay on her bed, imagining to herself how nice it would be to have blue, crystal-clear, moonlight forever, too fast, spinning, silver, streaming in through the windows, rustling the leaves of apple trees in the orchards not too far away, billowing past the waves of the saltwater oceans, and round through the foothills and the headlands, – a picturesque moment frozen in time. Wouldn't it be nice?

Regardless, she lulled herself to sleep that night, humming a little tune as she gazed out the window, beyond her reflection and all the lights, to the scorpion with eyes of red, the eagle's wings outspread, the little dog with eyes of blue, the curls of the snake of light, where high above, Orion sang, felling the brushwood and the dewdrops. The clouds of Andromeda were shaped like a fish's mouth. And extending the length of the Great Bear's paw five times north, above the Little Bear's head, perhaps Hitomi too could put her finger on how to tour the skies.

Wouldn't it be nice if she could fly through the night skies, uninhibited by her being, only gliding through the circles of the skies – perhaps it would. And she slept, with such precocious musing making rounds and rings around her mind.

But Hitomi found the mornings beautiful too.

Didn't she remember? Of course, she did. She must have, so she told herself, remembered that one day – one of far too many – perhaps in the ninth month, August, in mid-summer, when it was a clear morning after it had rained all night, when it was cloudy to the point where the constellations were nowhere found.

"It's morning!" her tabby cat chirped, whapping its cushy paws on her cheeks in an attempt, all too futile – it well knew, to wake its master at the crack of dawn. Still, however tedious the task proved and despite an astonishing lack of results, it had little choice but to carry on with this daily routine, out of the sheer goodwill and pious sense that made up its inborn character.

But however much he tried, scrambling on his master's body, pawing at her face, and on occasion, crawling into her nightgown and tumbling about like Mt. Fuji had just erupted, all that he could elicit from his master, one so unconsciously well-versed in the art of deep sleep that she could well earn an honorary doctorate on it, was a gentle brushing off by the hand and an occasional light rap on the head.

Annoyed, our young hero bravely insisted on his efforts by planting his majestic, opulent belly squat across Hitomi-ojou-chan's face, and proceeded to relax there on his newly-conquered heated cushion, curling up to take a much-needed and well-deserved break from the Sisyphean struggle that was trying to wake Hitomi-ojou-chan.

"Mmm…"

And with that one groan, she unceremoniously swatted away the tabby with a deft jerk of her right arm, wholly discomfited by the sensation of near-asphyxiation, slinging it hard onto the carpet floor.

The kitty shot her a haughty leer, cursing under its breath, "Urukyuu." But having fulfilled his morning directives, he proceeded to stalk back up onto Hitomi's lap where it once more made itself at home, to snooze just a little more with the little princess – how her straight locks of flowing seaweed hair made for such a soft, cool bed, as it lay sprawled all over, in disarray, and – how with the first rays of the sunshine, she seemed so much like a goddess, albeit messy, frozen in time.

Would it be right to call her a goddess? She wondered.

Because – happiness!

Did she know what happiness was?

In those days, she knew what it meant to be happy – and perhaps, by some (fallacious) intuitive extension, to be herself.

Awakening slowly to the morning sun creeping in through her floral-patterned curtains, she rubbed her sleepy eyes with the back of her palms while she lay on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Then, she opened the bed-side windows to let some cool autumn air in.

And what did the morning sound like? She recalled. The clinking of bicycles, maybe; the chatter of children – still carefree; and the chirping of swallows, engaged in swallow-conversation. Perhaps that was what it sounded like. But having only just woken up, Hitomi-ojou-chan could not have taken such a diverse soundscape in and process those mundane morning sounds.

Did she, then, know what happiness was?

* * *

" _It's bright May sunshine,"_ Madoka once said.

* * *

And May sunshine, she felt, was long-lived enough to stretch into the nether parts of August.

As was her daily ritual, she rose to sit upright on her mattress, green hair flowing messily down her sleeves like streaks of long rain travelling across window panes, and bent sideways for the handle of her mini-fridge, conveniently placed beside her bed. Fumbling somewhat, she managed to open the door and retrieve a silver bottle of Ramune from within.

Lethargically shaking it once or twice, she uncapped the bottle and was greeted with a satisfying wake-up hiss. Then, bringing it slowly up to her lips, she gingerly downed the whole bottle of grape soda, relishing the chill of the glass bottle on her already-chilly hand while with her free hand, she brushed her tabby, comfortably positioned on her lap.

* * *

" _It is the warmth of family."_

* * *

And there is more than enough of such warmth to go around. Or did she think it was subject to the tragedy of the commons? Her family, though, was far from common, plebeian garden fare. Hence, she was safe.

Tinkle, tinkle, the glass marble inside the bottle went. Tinkle, tinkle, it went as she drank. And didn't she remember, when she was younger – yes, even younger than she was – she had a habit of discreetly sneaking out bottles of the good stuff.

Didn't she remember? The rush of adrenaline that coursed through her bloodstream the very first time she partook in such disreputable mischief, when she still feared that she was about to dishonour her family, bring shame to her hundreds and hundreds of ancestors.

Was it in an outdoors park? Behind a small shed, mid-noon, clearly in view of the public but with no one familiar watching excepting a small black panther sauntering about on the pavement, in a garden filled with all kinds of flowers, from red spider lilies, violets, chrysanthemums. She had sneaked out a silver bottle of Ramune, inconspicuously hidden along the back strap of her bra all along.

Was she planning to drink it? Drawing her silver bottle heroically from behind her like some shounen manga protagonist unsheathing his butcher's blade, she imagined herself to be a knight-in-shining-armour on some quest to save a little sleeping prince – the one stuck on the tower in the moon, sleeping, with the rose, and one sort or other.

But her hands began to tremble slightly as beads of cold sweat trickled down her forehead and her lips pursed then puckered in nervous anticipation. She gripped the neck of that silver bottle so tightly that her fingers were close to turning a ghastly pale.

Then, "smash!" said the bottle.

And its silver shards of silver glass and the whole volume of clear liquid flew everywhere around – how the myriad unstrung gems were scattered everywhere around. Sprinkled all over the garden and the flowers, the glass shards and clear dew reflected the light of the overhead sun everywhere around. In that silver garden, she bent down and pocketed from the ground the small glass marble that had been liberated from the confines of the silver glass.

Was it that she intended to play with them or make a collection of them like so many of her young peers, some of whom chocked little plastic boxes full of those little sugary mementos? No, it was not much fun for her. What good was a glass marble to her? She could find little use for it and her imagination did not deign to thinking up trifling games to do with such a trinket. What she enjoyed, however, was the sound of it tinkling in the bottle.

Tinkle, tinkle, it went.

Perhaps it was because the marble was – trapped. Confined? Voluntarily or involuntarily, regardless of the marble's feelings, she wanted to 'rescue' it. Or maybe, she simply wanted to hold it in her hands because it was always out of reach, like some forbidden fruit that could not be touched without infracting the command of God in the tale of Adam.

Was that happiness? A form of it, maybe.

And did she know what happiness was?

* * *

" _It's fried eggs for breakfast,"_ Madoka once said. Silly Madoka.

* * *

But that was a memory from long long away, far far ago.

She gazed at the silver bottle in her hand, almost knowingly, or maybe fondly, and threw it up a couple times, feeling the weight every time she caught it, hearing the marble tinkle, tinkle, tinkle – the bottle unbroken, undisturbed. And with that, she let the tabby down on the carpet, deposited the empty bottle into the nearby rubbish bin silently, save for a customary tinkle, tinkle, and slowly got up off the bed to prepare for school.

A quick shower, some breakfast, followed by a little grooming, courtesy of her mother. One brush, two brushes, three brushes – and her hair was done, prim and proper. As far as she could remember back then, her hair was always straight, and not in need of too much attention.

Her red bag, packed the day before, slung over a rack by the door. In all frankness, she preferred black but found no need to deviate from the norm. And all ready, she went about greeting, "I'm heading off," to all in the household, even her father, still lying in bed, the prime image of morning lethargy, scratching his exposed belly every so often.

"Stay safe," her cat mewed out by the doorstep.  
"You too," replied the little goddess, smiling. One day, she thought, they'd have to give him a personalised name. But, no matter, no matter.

Thus beginning her morning commute to school, she would first have to pass through the family's exquisite silver-gated topiary garden. So neatly arranged and spacious a lot, as a child she would often stop to, literally, smell the roses and admire whatever hidden corners she could chance upon within the maze. From time to time, when she was free to do so, dear Hitomi-ojou-chan would venture alone into the labyrinth, hopping over ha-has, ducking under vines, admiring how the shrubbery walls towered over her so.

Once, she relayed her fascination of the unfathomable layout and the myriad flowers that were strewn everywhere about on the branches of creeping tendrils and strong upright stems, as if it were all conjured by magic. Giggling slightly, her mother patted her hair gently and said, "You should be discreet. If the existence of magic isn't kept secret, it could very well disappear."

So, she kept the sentiment of miracles and magic privately in her heart, like some seed firmly planted in the ground, waiting for its moment to puncture into the air and blossom in all its beauty – an act of love.

Maybe that was what happiness was.

* * *

 _"It's having your name called by someone."_

* * *

But what if it was really the opposite? Could she find happiness in acts of silence?

Illuminated by the crimson sun, flagging slightly behind the clouds as it began its slow ascent, the dew that was still dripping from the chrysanthemums in the garden. On the bamboo fences and crisscross hedges she strolled past, she sometimes saw tatters of spider-webs; and where the threads broke, glistening raindrops hung on them like strings of white pearls.

At that sight, for some reason, she was greatly moved and delighted – by nature's beauty? And didn't she remember? Whenever it became sunnier after the rain, the dew would gradually vanish from the clovers and the other plants where it had lain so heavily; the branches would begin to stir, then suddenly spring up of their own accord, alive. Once, she tried to express to her family and friends how beautiful it all was. It most impressed her: that they were not at all impressed.

That was what she found beautiful – the mornings.

But that was then, and this was now.

* * *

 _Tock. Tock. Tock._

* * *

Monotonously, like the abbot's clanging of the meditation bell every hour high above in the local Buddhist temple, the sōzu standing by a corner of her penthouse suite tipped over, bamboo hitting the rock, water from within it pouring out into the basin.

Gradually, morning came.

Leaves change. Flowers bloom. Birds sing. Bright May sunshine only lasts throughout May.

She lay sprawled all over her large bed, nightgown slightly crumpled, blanket strewn down below on the soft carpet floor, staring at the gold silken canopy hanging overhead her. Wavy tresses of seaweed-green hair floated about the blank canvas of mattress. The biting orange of dawn shot through her whole room, windowed from all angles, such that nary a dark shadow could be seen.

"Ah. Too bright," she winced.

The pure sunbeams burned straight into her eyes through the clear morning skies. Looking in the far-out, Hitomi could see all the city blanketed beneath a velvet dark shadow as the sun began to rise. From where she was, it was always darkest at the break of dawn. Placing an arm over her eyes to block off the sun, she heaved a small sigh at the thought of having to get up from the comforting clutches of her bed to start the day. Not yet. A juvenile part of her wished that the day wouldn't start just yet.

She wished she could stop time.

But even if she could, time stops for no man.

After a few minutes of lethargy, she willed herself off the soft mattress and in her bedroom slippers, she shuffled off towards the edges of her suite. Windows lined the walls in Hitomi's suite; well to be precise, the walls were effectively glass-panel windows. Hitomi could see and could almost feel the biting autumn breeze smother the buildings and installations beyond the barrier, while only a few skyscrapers just about grazed the surface of clouds high above with their pointed tips, swords towards the heavens. With a deeper look, she saw her self floating up in the sky, green eyes burning gilt. But sooner, the mortmirage was erased by the sun's flaming sword.

Barely an inch of glass stood between her and the outside world. But that small distance was such that it looked to be very faraway, very far removed from the scene within. The longer she stared outside, the more she thought she was staring at an eternal dreamscape. That further exacerbated her uneasy restlessness, as she felt some deep-seated ancient urge rise from within her like bile caught in her throat. It was as though something within her was aching to escape through the glass ceiling of her heart from the confinement of undiluted, uncommunicated thought and ideals. What was it?

She wished the glass would simply disappear. When she took a good look down below the wuthering heights, a wave of feverish excitement and primal fear washed through her mind. Just one more step, and

* * *

then, the bitter cold crept all the way from her toes into her bones, as she felt the spirit drain from her body, her head growing light, lighter, lightermore, and her eyes widened in fear and trembling. Just as she had always found the mornings, the evenings, the seasons – life, just as she had always found life beautiful, cherished that will to live, to be strong, to power within her – didn't she know? She, too, found death beautiful. She did not know it until she stood at the razor's edge of the heavens, like that man from before her who fell from the silver mountain, no, she did not no it at all until then. Gazing right into the sun, she thought she felt it. Somewhere, deep within her, was a Freudian will to death – a death drive.

She wanted to jump. Jump! Up into the unknown.

* * *

" _Everyone here will die!"_ Madoka once said.

* * *

Yes, yes, yes. She was, quite right.

* * *

 _"That's right, all of us will embark on a journey to a better world!"_

* * *

Wouldn't it be nice? To be free as a bird.

* * *

" _Do you understand just how wonderful that is? Our living bodies are holding us back!"_

* * *

To be a goddess.

Was that what it meant to be happy?

Heart still racing madly, palpitating at a presto, she stumbled backwards and tried to compose herself, hand clenching her icy breast, as the cold sweat on her foreheads trickled down like beads of long rain that fell on a day where the city had a blackout and darkness reigned while she was stranded at the park as a little child, waiting, waiting, waiting. Heavily breathing, almost panting, as if gasping for air, her exhaled breaths turned white and misty in the cold room.

Did she, then, think she knew what happiness was?

It is bright May sunshine.

It is the warmth of family.

It is fried eggs for breakfast.

But there's nothing like that in Heaven, the Kingdom of God.

A goddess had none of that.

Didn't she know? There is a price to pay for everything. Man errs, till he has ceased to strive. Or could it have been the other way round?

Now the cat is gone. One day, when she thought of calling out for it in their big mansion, she realised she didn't know its name. And though she scoured every room and every corner, overturned almost every piece of furniture looking for it, shouting "Nyaa! Nyaa!" in the faint hope that it would respond, it had simply vanished like an apparition, never to be seen again.

And as for that beauty she so deeply loved – didn't she remember?

Once upon a time, when the nameless cat was still around, when she was still a child who hated the Ramune liquid but liked its marble, she was told a bedtime story of a man who tried to gain happiness.

Faust, an eminent scholar, felt that none of his many achievements had provided him with satisfaction or fulfilment. He yearned to gain knowledge of absolute truth, of some sort of categorical imperative, and the meaning of existence. Alas, he turned to magic in the hope of finding a solution and finally struck a deal with the devil. He agreed to sell his soul if the devil could give him one moment of experience that was so rewarding, his sense of alienation disappeared, and he called upon that moment to stay as it was forever.

And what became of him then? What became of him then, of his magic and of his miracles?

Did he think himself to be a hero?

* * *

 ** _BLUE_**

* * *

Sunrise shone through the barrier of distant mountains that peeked over Mitakihara's horizon. Like a trail of dominos, all the trees – autumn brown, evergreen, even the witching trees of splendid colour – turned dark when they cast their shadows onto one another. Only their tips could be distinctly made out, jutting from a sea of blurry morning darkness. Even then, the light that washed over them bleached their colours a shiny golden hue, morning dew sparkling, shiningly unwavering.

Within a small woodwork grove lined with unblossomed sakura trees, just a stone's throw away from the main road that headed straight towards the school, Hitomi dawdled back and forth the pathway. Despite being clothed in a sheen of velvet shadow, with the refreshing morn mist sailing, the searing warmth of the sunbeams beat against her smooth skin, reflected and amplified by the glassworks and floating zeppelins from high above – everyday soaring further.

She was waiting for Kyousuke. That Tuesday morning, strolling around aimlessly, biding her time as she patiently awaited Kyousuke's arrival. In the beginning, she was positively miffed how Kyousuke lacked the basic courtesy to even arrive earlier than his lady. Clearly ungentlemanly; but not that she minded much.

If Saotome-sensei were in her shoes, surely she would lash out at Kyousuke for not knowing how to treat a lady proper. Or perhaps Saotome-sensei would simply pout and say nothing, merely giving her partner the cold shoulder and the evil eye? Or maybe she would simply bear with it? What would Saotome-sensei do if she were in Hitomi's shoes? Hitomi pondered on such a train of thought before sighing to herself internally in resignation. It was pointless to entertain such thought experiments. To begin with, Saotome-sensei wasn't a good role model when it came to handling relationships.

The first time around when they were meeting up to head to school together, that being a rarity in itself, Kyousuke simply sauntered up to her, a good 10 minutes late, and apologized, "Ah, sorry, Shizuki-san, you didn't wait long, did you? I was just a little caught up with morning practice."

"Not at all, Kamijou-kun," she politely answered, hands interlocked behind her back, fingers wriggling in excitement, jangling her briefcase behind her. Looking down at the paved floor to hide Kyousuke's gaze from her flushed cheeks, she tapped her feet a couple times in quiet anticipation for their morning stroll and all manner of her dissatisfaction was thus forgotten.

As those bubbly seafoam memories came floating to the top of her mind, she wore a gentle smile on her face. At times, when recalling Kyousuke, Hitomi could not help but conjure the gilded image of herself as a young girl in association. And wasn't that what she loved most about him?

His dedication to his music, his drive and passion – the violin meant the most to him. Sometimes, it felt like she was looking through a time machine, disappearing through the smoke-rings of her mind into some long-forgotten future. In a way, Kyousuke was a person whose head was ever up in the clouds. Just like how Hitomi used to be.

There were times when she'd muse to herself, staring out the windows of the café she and the others frequented, down towards the sun-drenched business district, sipping on her hot coffee, ruminating on the way she had come thus far and how much she had changed gradually over the years, without her noticing

She had always found it quite laughable – she would spend a half-hour each morning in front of the mirror to make herself presentable but she hardly ever noticed how she had changed. It almost felt natural to her. Her eyelids had slanted down by the sides to form a kindly shape, when all along in her childhood she had been wide-eyed. Her hair, too, suddenly – it was always straight, until one fine day she noticed that it had undertaken a natural perm.

Back then, she was just like Kyousuke, without a shadow of a doubt. Where did she change? Looking down upon the crowd making their way, flitting to and fro as the clouds languidly streamed by, casting light shadows everywhere about, she wondered: what is it that joins your heart and my heart together? And what is it that parts them?

Was it because she only shared a lukewarm enthusiasm for Western classical music? That she had not sifted through discs of Rachmaninoff's romances or Bach's cello suites, refining her musical ear to draw out virtuosity and musicality? She had not dedicated all her musical passion towards understanding the message behind the pieces that he had put all his soul into. She did not accompany him at his bedside every day of his hospitalisation. She did not help his misery. She was not lively enough. She did not get a bob cut. Her hair was not blue enough – **青**.

But maybe it was because she had never ever felt that fire warming the cockles of her deep heart, a fervent blaze like a shooting star that would, out of the blue, inspire her with a zest for life. Then again, maybe it was nothing too spectacular. The years had passed her by and she had given up on travelling a journey she always wanted to take, one she had been on all along.

Thinking that, she heaved a quiet sigh of resignation and cocked her head up to the heavens, feet still moving left and right and left and right. She watched the clouds float by, every minute getting brighter, to the point where she would have to squint at the harsh goldglare. And not long after, strolling in circles, she felt the cold autumn breeze picking up, rustling the leaves of trees ever so slightly, forming a low orchestral hum.

Cold, she removed a thick, graey hand-made muffler from her bag, a small softbrown pianissimo woven by the corner. She coiled it several times around her neck. Nuzzling her nose and mouth down into the scarf, she took a whiff of its homely scent and basked in the warmth for a few cherished seconds, silent but for the clopping of elusive deer hooves in the nearby.

Occasionally, she would grow irritated at the very thing she admired in Kyousuke. Wouldn't it be good if he could direct just a mote of that drive and passion he had for music towards her for once? Or so she would sometimes complain to herself. Just recently when she had invited Kyousuke out for dinner on Saturday, he replied that he was busy with a recital that day. Crossed at his inattentiveness to her needs, she decided to up and attend the concert, dragging Sayaka along with her. Owing to the ineffable power of disposable income, they managed to purchase front row tickets, granting Hitomi the pleasure of being able to bore holes into his head up-close. If she couldn't get to spend some free time with her boyfriend, the least she could do was graciously barge into his schedule.

As she gazed at the zeppelins gliding by on a pillow of clouds, all golden, without a trace of their original colour, she shut her eyelids and took a deep breath in. The first time she met him was in the far-off flower garden, right by the sleek belltower, towering atop a hill that overlooked the city from all vantage points.

Idle, she wandered to the very top of the flowering peak at sundown, alone, with only her briefcase held to her front. By the corner of her ear, she thought she heard a reed being blown intermittently in broken snatches. Curious, she trailed towards the source of that sweet sound which seemed to emanate from every corner, in the shrubs and the flowers, by the pathway to the high-up skies.

Slightly dashing, her pace light and lively, she traversed the convoluted maze of shrubs and flowers with a strange determination in her heart. What was she hoping to find? She didn't know. The deeper the feeling, the harder it is for it to show up in the surface.

Guided by this inspirational rush, this fervour, she turned left and right and left and right – till she realised she had lost her bearings and had gone no closer to the music. At dusk, when the receding sun selfishly obscures the starscape, reluctant to relinquish its hold over mankind and rest for the night, Hitomi could not distinguish north from south, east to west. No landmarks, as far as the eye could see. All she saw was a vast, endless Gulistan – a maze of a rose garden stretching everywhere. So fresh, so bright, the crimson daylight blazing, all adazzle. Though she realised then that she was horribly lost in that kaleidoscopic sunset garden, did she feel scared and abandoned, even just a bit? Not at all.

Did she feel lonely and alone, even just a bit? Yes. Of course, she did. Look around! The sunlight in the emptiness! And white clouds, or were they white cranes, flying. At that moment, a burst of profound emptiness rose through the depths of her heart. Grimacing elegantly, she gradually halted and surveyed the magical piece of murdered time she had been trapped in.

There was no end to it all.

If she ran far, far ahead, trampling the shrubs and roses beneath her, would she have escaped? If she traced the walls to find her way back, would she have been successful?

But unbeknownst to her, she began to entertain the thought of smiling faintly. Because, she thought she had seen such a scene before in a dream of suspended animation. Because, she felt free! So free, she could not tell if she were dead or alive in that funny garden where everything is hues of orange, gold, and red. What if she could not find her way out? What if she could not get back home?

What if she never got to see her family again? What if her cat one day stumbled back home, only to find no one to welcome?

What if everything was gone – and she ended up like the girl who leapt through time?

Then there would be nothing left for her. No home, no warmth, no comfort, no shelter. Thinking that, she felt like a lonely castaway stranded in the middle of the ocean – Urashima Taro.

But what would that matter? What would that matter at all…

Perhaps she could learn to make do, to live and let live there.

Accepting chance and change, she could hide away by a little grotto next to a spring; perched there on a bed of roses, just watching the clouds so bright, the birds making their flight, she could be satisfied.

So dreamy – didn't it scare her to think that she could live in an eternal dream? Few, if any, would wander into the secret garden, secluded by the treacherously enchanting maze atop the hill, but white clouds would occasionally touch and pass away.

Soft grass for a pillow, blue skies for a blanket – happy, alive, free. Was that what she always wanted? Wasn't that what she always wanted?

But she ambled onwards aimlessly, all volition towards and away from anything, gone.

When, refreshed, she made it out, after what seemed like a few hours but had only been a few minutes, she passed Kyousuke by without so much as a second glance. That was how they met.

Then, they were strangers. But now – now what? Feeling the cold creep into her bones, Hitomi gave off a small high-pitched sneeze and began shivering slightly. A flicker of blue in her windrolling waves.

Kyousuke was certainly taking his time.

Perhaps Kyousuke was still practicing the violin, repeating a phrase umpteen times till he was satisfied with it. Perhaps Kyousuke was slowly munching down on breakfast within the comforts of home. Hitomi cringed smilingly at that passing thought. For if it happened to be the case, then there would be punishment.

But perhaps he was caught in yet another traffic accident, and had once again broken his arm. If that were the case, then Hitomi would be left to wait at the scenic grotto for much longer, in the shade and sun, her pink hair and pianissimo hairpin glittering golden. Maybe that wouldn't have been too bad.

From time to time, she interrupted her pacing around to check the time of her wristwatch.

08 04. She sighed, muttering to herself, "What's taking him so long? Struggling to put on his lipstick and mascara?"

Conjuring the image of Kyousuke with lollipop red lips and luscious eyebrows topped with eye shadow, she sniggered to herself. While it was no longer uncommon for men to put on basic foundation to improve their faces and look more presentable, especially when big meetings or interviews were due, she wondered if the evolution of male makeup culture would eventually culminate into that of the females. After all, women had been applying facial cosmetics long before it had been introduced to men.

Indeed, fashion was a lady's luxury – Hitomi could attest to that, though it certainly came with its costs. Men would, in general, be the understudies in all that was beautifying and glorifying. It was simple, clear-cut logic that, since women have applied makeup for so very long, men – being creatures of the same species – would biologically have to do the same. Walking around with false eyelashes and well-powdered miens, they would be assimilated into popular female self-grooming culture. Gone would be the days where males excelling in makeup were largely found only in cosplays conventions, stages, or fashionista hubs! No more would those old, decrepit fools say: "How dishonourable!" This new, fashionable kind of man would now be found in boardrooms, surgical operations theatres, and even in Buddhist temple lodgings.

Hence, to prepare Kyousuke for the unwitting future, Hitomi would have to have him practice applying makeup. Yes, she was fully convinced of it and smiled in determination. The trouble then, would be when to find the time to strike on her unassuming prey. There was never enough time. There were so many things Hitomi wanted to do with Kyousuke. But there was never enough time.

Still, Kyousuke ran ever later. Occasionally, morning passers-by strolling through the park or the side roads would glance strangely at Hitomi, curious as to what she was doing, pacing so repetitively about the same place, never going anywhere. She had an inkling that Kamijou wasn't very conscious of the time. Maybe in time to come, neither would she, like what was engraved on his violin: as it was in the beginning, is now.

She flipped out her phone to dial Kyousuke.

On the fourth dial, he picked up.

"Ah, Kamijou-kun?"  
"Ah, Shizuki-san. Ohaiyou. I'm sorry for being late again."  
"It's alright," she smiled, "Where are you right now?"  
"Well, you see – I sort of got into an accident."  
"Eh?!"

Her eyes widened in shock and she stopped in her tracks.

"Don't worry about me," he tried to comfort her, but then added, "ah, but actually, do worry about me. Just not too much."  
"What happened?"  
"It's nothing too serious. I just got knocked down by a car – "  
"Knocked down!"  
"Mm, hit by a car. Thankfully it wasn't a lorry or a van, and it was also cruising somewhat slowly along."  
"How badly injured are you?"  
"Just a bit. Not too much. No cause for concern, really. They're still checking up, and I've got a few more scans to do soon, but I'm sure it'll be fine."  
"That's a relief. Where are you?"  
"Like I said, no need to worry about – "  
"Where are you?"  
"Well, I'm at Mitakihara General Hospital."  
"The Accident and Emergency department?"  
"No, I'm already warded. Ward 07, on the 10th floor."  
"Ok, then – "  
"Ah, but there's no need to visit me. They're still not allowing visitors just yet. And I should be out by the end of today. So don't worry about me, okay?"

Hitomi paused for a moment, before she answered, "Alright."  
"Then, see you tomorrow, Shizuki-san."  
"Take care, Kamijou-kun."

After hanging up the phone, she made an abrupt turn and left for the hospital.

* * *

Twiddling her thumbs, she sat on a bench in the waiting area on the 10th floor. From time to time, she cast her gaze upon the door down the hallway to her right. No movement, still. It had been that way for the last few hours or so. She didn't keep track of the time. When she arrived at the gates of the pristine glasswork complex, she wordlessly made her way into the lift and it crawled its way up to the 10th floor.

Behind the lift door was glass. Hitomi turned around and through the looking glass, she peeked. She saw the city, bright blue already in so short a time. The school, in the far-off distance. She could just barely discern the outlines of the sleek school belltower and the cathedral-esque roof. Only the lone stone statue of the Madonnina, mounted at the pinnacle, stood clear.

Not a thought went by Hitomi's mind.

Suddenly a skylark burst into song from somewhere beneath her feet. She looked around, but could find no sight of the bird. Still, its voice rang out. The cascade of natural notes rushed forth, unceasing. Hitomi wondered why the bird sang. A mating call would have been a good guess. But could there have been more to it? And she wondered why skylarks were so often said to sing so happily. For when she heard it, she could not make sense of its wild and vigorous melody. Which part of it was to make the heart dance with delight? However wholehearted and soulful it sang its heart out, Hitomi couldn't wrap her head around its music.

It seemed like the skylark was to sing the drowsy autumn day to a close, sing it to light, sing it to darkness, sing it till the morning came again. Up and up, it flew away, perhaps into the terrace of clouds above, its song gradually petering out. One day, it would probably die in that vast expanse. How peaceful.

As she listened, she mused on how things that ended abruptly or firmly had a strong sense of finality and provided proper conclusions for one to digest and leave be. In contrast, that which slowly drew to a close usually left her wanting for it to continue, to never end. However incomprehensible and unpredictable the song was, she thought she could still hear the last vestiges of its voice hanging in the far reaches of the cloudy abyss.

And thinking that, she remembered a small stanza from an English poem about a skylark, which Saotome-sensei had introduced to them in the distant past.

* * *

 _We look before and after_  
 _And pine for what is not:_  
 _Our sincerest laughter_  
 _With some pain is fraught;_  
 _Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought._

* * *

The bird did not suffer; not a mote of anguish was laden in its voice. Maybe that was why she could not appreciate the birdsong. Did she wish she could be like the skylark? Serenity within serenity. Pleasure within pleasure. Beauty within beauty.

The lift smoothly ground to a halt. She had reached the 10th floor.

Immediately beyond the lift was a set of cream marble steps. Bamboo shadows swept the stairs, but no dust stirred. Sunlight penetrated to the bed of the river in the far-off, but no trace remained.

She made her way up to the waiting area and sat on a padded chair, with a good view before her. With a small book in her hands, Soseki's Kusamakura, she began her long wait. It made for a nice pillow to rest her hands whenever she felt drowsy. Indeed, autumn made for a drowsy season. As did spring, summer, and winter. All seasons are good for napping, good for ticking the time away.

 _Tick. Tock._

Tick. Tock.

 _Tock._

Tock.  
Tock.

Outside, the bush warbler in a grove of bamboo sprouts sang of growing old. Past the glass wall she faced, Hitomi saw its beak moving and throat vibrating. She could hear nothing however, like how despite the agitation of a river makes it slosh and spurn fiercely, the surroundings remain quiet. Like how everything is quiet around the Sanzu river. Clouds streamed by the blue mountains in the distance.

Sometimes, when Hitomi closed her eyes and opened them again, she would be met with a different scene. One moment, it was clear and bright, with the waxed floor reflecting the sky above like the surface of a water body, and Hitomi as the lone person adrift in a sea of blue. The next thing she knew, storm clouds gathered and a light drizzle fell upon the graeying landscape. Safe in the cool hospital, yellow lamplight awash on her body, faint sense of lilies around, she drifted in and out of peaceful slumber.

Stuck in limbo between the states of wakeful alertness and unaware sleep, she began to faintly dream, when she heard a pair of light footsteps resounding through the hallways, followed by the smooth shuttering of doors. Spurring herself awake, she rubbed her tired eyes, and squinnied over to the right.

The doors of ward 07 stood slightly ajar.

In the silence, she made doubly sure not to let her footsteps echo in the unpeopled place, afraid of disturbing the hallowed atmosphere – the chapel of a hospital. And in she peeked, half her face edging over the gap.

"Mou…"

She heaved a moan of relief.

Reclining on his hospital bed with hardly a scratch on his body, he snored softly with his mouth hanging half-open. Hitomi shuffled in and seated herself beside him by the windowsill, settling herself in with the afternoon sky delicately beaming in through the white, open curtains.

On the nightstand lay Kyousuke's well-loved CD player. Spinning, spinning: the speakers played Satie's Nocturnes. Chastened, simple – a fitting piece for Kyousuke, and fitting night songs for the warm afternoon. Grey hair shining through the mist.

Leaning forward, she went forth to inspect the condition of his body.

She had been self-educated by a certain famous Mitakiharan artificial intelligence robot on up-to-date and effective means of assessing the health and longevity of a male body and, as a bonus, capture his unassuming heart, what with the new breed of herbivore men grazing the meadows of Japan; it went by the acronym: Sa Shi Su Se So.

* * *

 **Sa: Say, I know this is sudden, but you have really nice muscles!**

* * *

At first glance, Kyousuke had a well-toned figure. Clearly, he was active and maintained his physical health, lest any problems thereof hindered his violin playing. But she never had the time to test her hypothesis and truly understand his physique; neither did the situation ever call for such a bodily check-up. Intrigued, she courageously pushed the brave frontiers of science forward.

* * *

 **Shi: Can I touch those magnificient muscles? What beautiful muscles you have there…**

* * *

Patting his right arm, she instantly knew that his state was somewhat lamentable. Needless to say, he seemed unharmed but she was still slightly disappointed. Next, she slithered down to his stomach. Some abs there: a clear hardness there. With a dainty smirk, she slithered down to his thighs and squeezed slightly.

"Mmm."

Kyousuke groaned but made no other movement.

Thankful that it was a false alarm, Hitomi gathered her composure and gazed upon his mug. Overall, it was passable. Sayaka scored better though. He should gym more frequently. She would see to it.

* * *

 **Su: It's tightening! It's really tight too. You're really ripped, aren't you? I want to try making clothes for muscular people, so – can I take your measurements?**

* * *

Hitomi pursed her lips in disappointment. Granted, she was a stellar example of a Yamato Nadeshiko, and so much more. Tea ceremony, piano, classical Japanese dance – and knitting was certainly included as a small pastime. Unfortunately for her, Kyousuke was by far the more experienced there, somewhat surprisingly. Though he rarely put his skills to work, the few times he did, his works – hand-woven gloves and scarves – were of store-bought quality.

Nevertheless, she perked herself up, thinking: 'It's the thought that counts after all.'

She simply hoped that Kyousuke would not be so crass as to make blatant comparisons. And with that, to avoid disturbing his sleep, she roughly estimated a size 'M' for his hospital gown in replacement of actual measurements. M. Or S? No H. M.

* * *

 **Se: Thank you! But your arm is really long! It's very nice. I actually… I can read palm fortunes, can I read yours? Ah! You have a very strong life line! To have such a long and strong life line – I've been looking for a man like you.**

* * *

Zooming in on his left hand that rested upturned on his lap, she let a soft fingertip trace the contours of his palm.

They were slightly roughened with years of practice, sliding mercilessly on taut strings throughout the years.

"Life line… life line…"

She wondered aloud as she struggled to identify the life line. After some effort, she decided to just label the longest, thickest mark as the life line for convenience's sake. That way, certainly, maybe, Kyousuke would stop getting into all sorts of silly accidents.

* * *

 **So: Don't you think we're so compatible? So, will you go out with me?**

* * *

And that step was all but said and done, but –

However, since Kyousuke couldn't meet most of the requirements, Hitomi surmised that he had failed the fitness diagnostic, regardless of the recent accident. She chuckled to herself as she mused such whimsical details.

In the corner of the room, the water in a hollowed rock of the miniature zen garden swayed gently to and fro, creating an intricate lacework pattern of tiny ripples in irregular curves.

"Are you really okay?"

No response came.

Why not wake him up? But Hitomi would only wake him up if she knew what she wanted to say to him. And she wanted to say not one thing, but everything. Little words that broke up her thoughts and dismembered them were worthless. They said nothing. About life, about death, about them – no, nothing could be said.

But at the very least, seeing him so at ease as to sleep so serenely, if unseemly, helped to reassure her that all was well. At last, for the first time in the day, she smiled. Worn out by the day's goings – who knew rest could be so enervating? – she settled nicely onto Kyousuke's shoulder, one hand fiddling with his hospital gown, as she turned to look beyond the window.

It was drizzling. She hadn't noticed it before. It was bright, but it was also drizzling. The long rains fell in silent motion.

In the far recesses of the hospital garden, heavily shrouded by overhanging foliage, Hitomi caught sight of a camellia bush blooming by on the nearby bank, surrounded by spider lilies. How starkly they bloomed, a deep madder red colour, all huddled together in quiet seclusion.

She shuddered. The leaves were too dark to be green. Even when occasional sunbeams pierced through to the bush, Hitomi could not derive any cheerfulness from the sight. There was nothing bright about them, only an oversaturated colour of red, bursting out like blotches of blood or the beady stare of machinery lights. Yet she could not help but gaze at them. The sunken darkness hidden deep within its core was sufficiently hidden by an inelegant display of flamboyant colour – masters of deception.

They seemed to live forever on their brushes, tucked away from prying eyes and the passage of time. Violets, peppermints – the lot, they all bloom and drop, drop and bloom – a joyous cycle of nature. But the camellia – turn and look the other way, then they suddenly disappear.

As she watched, one red flower plopped onto the skyblue pond below. The light drizzle splattered all over the water surface soundlessly, obscuring the clear mirror, leaving not the slightest trace of a camellia's landing waves. Within the ward, as the autumn sun shone softly on everything inside and out, only one flower had given way. The camellia flowers never scattered their petals away; they fell off whole and unbroken.

Not before long, another dropped. And yet another. They floated atop the pond, never sinking, dyeing the water in blots of blood-red. Hitomi mused that maybe, if left as they were, they would eventually be bleached by the water, purified into white camellias floating on a red river, like a purgatory. Ceaselessly, they fell.

She remained transfixed at the sight until a voice came in by the door.

"Excuse me."

An attending nurse entered. Hitomi stood up and gave a quick bow. The nurse smiled and waved back.

"Sorry for interrupting your work."  
"It's no trouble at all. You are?"  
"This is Shizuki Hitomi."  
"Ho? And I'm – what's my name again," then she shrugged after pondering for a moment, "I must have forgotten. I'm not good with names. So you are Kamijou-san's visitor? His girlfriend?"  
"Quite so."  
"Ah, I see. He's a handsome young man. It must be embarrassing to see him sleeping like that."  
"He certainly does sleep comfortably," she laughed somewhat nervously.  
"Come to think of it, with his baby-face and all, he looks like a Sleeping Beauty. Don't you think so?"  
"Well, if only a kiss would get him to wake up."  
"Why don't you try it out?"

Stunned at first by the cheeky suggestion, she quickly took firm action.

 _Chuu._

"Uwaa," the nurse blushed at the sight and sniggered, "you're shameless. Rabu-rabu in paburiku."  
"I'm shameless, once in a while. But he's not awake at all."  
"He must be tired; he slept through the whole afternoon, all the scans included," and she chuckled upon remembering the events.  
"Maybe if I kissed him with all my might…"  
"I've never heard of a fairy tale like that."

They both laughed, and the nurse left soon after. It became quiet again. Drowsiness crept up onto Hitomi again.

"Shizuki… san?"

But somewhere along the line, Kyousuke had woken up.

The skylark's song faded in from the outside. Permeated through the room, with the music of Satie, was an atmosphere of inhuman detachment.

"Ara, Kamijou-kun, ohaiyou."  
"Ohaiyou, Shizuki-san. You came."  
"Of course. What are the results?"  
"They told me everything's fine."  
"That's relieving. You don't look particularly bothered by the incident, though."  
"Is that so? I guess that's the case. Maybe I'm just not too concerned anymore."

He took her hand and stroked it lightly.

"After all, this isn't the first time."  
"You're very careless."  
"Mm, I really am. I wonder if it really matters that much."

Hitomi, in turn, grasped his hand loosely.

"Don't say that. So many things could have gone wrong. It was worrying, you know?"  
"I know. Arigatou, Shizuki-san. To have someone like you with me, someone who worries more about me than I do – it makes me very happy."

Outside, clouds upon clouds folded atop one another in terraces, some darker, some brighter, a stairway. To heaven maybe? Bamboo shadows –

"Kamijou-kun," she looked down at her bento as she asked.  
"Hai?"  
"If this accident, if it stopped you from playing the violin, permanently, and not just a brush like the last time – what would you do?"

He looked into her aolive green eyes searchingly, just for a few seconds. Reflected on her pianissimo hairpin, a gleaming picture of the falling rain.

Then he turned his gaze beyond the window and snugly sighed.

"I'd do something else, probably. Maybe I'd spend more time with you."  
"Maybe?"  
"Or would you be happier if you broke my arms and legs and made me completely dependent on you?"  
"That doesn't sound too bad."  
"I'm sorry; that was a joke. Please don't hurt me, Shizuki-sama."

Everywhere outside – green mountains, clear streams, fine glassworks. Tranquility within tranquillity. Beauty within beauty.

"Have you eaten?"  
"Nm. Hospital fare. And you?"  
"I have my bento," she flashed the box out from her briefcase.  
"Your bento? You didn't have lunch at school today? In fact, come to think of it, it's awfully early of you to be here."  
"Here, Kamijou-kun," she opened her bento lid and picked a piece of karaage with her chopsticks, "say 'aahh'".  
"Aahh."

And in it went.

Chew. Chew. Chew.

"Mm~ Oishii," he smiled after swallowing, "as expected of you."  
"Hehe."

Then, tucking her pink bangs behind her ear, she leaned her head forward, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth, not too wide as to be inelegant.

"Aaahh –"

Kyousuke grabbed onto a slice of omelette with the chopsticks and fed her.

Was that who Kyousuke was?

"Is it good?"  
"I'm not sure. Maybe you should do it again."  
"Haha, alright. Open wide."  
"Aahh - mmh."

Was that who Hitomi was?

"Oishii?"  
"Oishii ne."

Their reflections on the glass window, happy, at ease.

"Mm… much better than Sayaka's cooking."  
"How mean!" Hitomi pouted vivaciously, "She's been learning cooking from Madoka's father lately."  
"Aha, I'm sorry."  
"Don't be. You have nothing to apologize for anyways," and she giggled.

Thus they whiled away the afternoon, sometimes at Sayaka's expense. Sometimes appreciating the day's slow passing. Sometimes engaging in light discussion of classical music. Sometimes, Hitomi wondered just what it was like for Kyousuke back then, back when he had suffered from the terrible accident. And what could make her comprehend what the terrible accident was? She wondered. The peaches would pass the summer blooming, but wind and moon cannot be made to wait. Morning after morning, the flowers keep on falling.

Outside, it began to splatter to rain. Graey clouds: slowly, mists in the sky gathered, thick.

She could ask him. Ask him. But as he lay on the hospital bed, refreshed, livened –

* * *

 _"What did it feel like to lose your arm?"_

* * *

Ask him how it was like to be on the brink of loss – to have to give up the passion of his life, and indeed an inextricable part of himself to ineluctable temporality.

"Shizuki-san."

Perhaps she wanted to know what it was like for him to be subjected to hope: a hope before imminent, inevitable despair.

The fine-grained rain thickened to long continuous threads, each twisted by the wind.

"Shizuki-san?"

But how would this Kyousuke understand? Hitomi clenched her fists on her lap in muted frustration. Hope is the greatest of evils, had it not been said?

She had heard it from Akemi Homura, the box of Pandora: the Eve before eves, the eternal feminine, the all-gifted, the all-giving. The gift of the Greek gods to all of humanity. On the outside, it was splendid and unmarred, hence it was named 'the box of blessings'. Little did she know that from within it, all the evils flew out and terrorize the world thereon. But just one evil had yet to escape and when Pandora slammed the lid down, it remained inside. Hesiod never explained why it had remained. Nevertheless, ever since then, we have kept the box of blessings and thought the world of such a sublime treasure.

It is always there to count on, and whenever one wishes, it can be drawn out of from like the unfathomable abyss. But they were deceived, as was Pandora, for the box of blessings was truly the box of evils. Thus, hope is taken for the greatest gift of the heavens when it is in truth, the greatest evil of them all. Because hope is all too often ultimately a form of moral cowardice, and to that end, it only serves to prolong suffering. He who has succumbed to hope, might as well have succumbed to despair. It is to willingly tie one's hands behind, and irresponsibly seek for magical providence – not under the premise of submission, but vanity. For who can hope with all his might, and still retain courage? And who can reside in hope without throwing his life away? Or was it wrong for her to think so of such a nigh-religious sentiment?

"Hitomi-chan?"

When she looked upon Kyousuke, she found herself afraid. Instinctively, she averted her gaze. And did he think she was shy? Indeed, Hitomi was shy. She could not bear to see her reflection in Kyousuke's clear hazel eyes, for when she gazed long into the abyss, the abyss gazed into her. Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through her eyes.

Looking outside the window – no, there was nothing **outside** the window. Not anymore. Still, she pictured herself, a hidden figure seated beyond that vast ink-washed world of storm and rain shot through diagonally with a thousand silver arrows, not as herself – she pictured herself as some other person in the warm and graeying comfort of the hospital room, the picture of a lonely castaway stranded in the middle of the ocean – and found the moment to be poetic, beautiful.

Kyousuke was not the same anymore. He no longer valued his music with his life. Perhaps if she had asked him then – but this she would never know – what it was like to lose his arm – or rather, his excuse to carry on living – she would receive a matter-of-factly answer tainted by hindsight. Would he have judged his fear as nothing more than a mistake? Would he have denounced his passions as being inessential folly? Would he have chalked it all up to misfortune and sighed – thinking of joy in old age and a bittersweet peace?

He would have. He most definitely would have. After all, Kyousuke was an artistic person. It seemed to her as though Kyousuke had begun to disregard himself and cast aside the world. He might as well have been waiting to die, draw his last breath. His gentle, coaxing gaze made it all the more painful for her. How could Kyousuke remember what it meant to hope, what it meant to despair, and above all – what it meant to be human? A deep feeling of pity and burning indignance began to stir in her heart.

But as soon as she tried to force the words out of her lips, she found that she could only smile back with all the sincerity she could muster.

"Hitomi-chan-paparapan."

Maybe a different Kyousuke.

Maybe a different Kyousuke would be able to understand how he had felt. He would probably be late, but not because of another traffic accident. Perhaps he would be much more mindful of his health and welfare. It could have been the accident that had changed him. Or perhaps it could have been the miracle. Accidents are just tragic miracles. Why only Kyousuke's hands healed first was a complete mystery to all. It was strange to see how Kyousuke still had to go for rehab sessions for his legs despite the astonishing recovery of his hands. Remembering that, Hitomi mused to herself that God worked in mysterious ways. Additionally, Kyousuke would be cheerful, less reserved, jovial, convivial, less of an unassertive scaredy-cat – maybe he ought to have changed like that. A stronger person, in that sense – maybe someone like Kyouko, with less of a thirst for challenge. Then, he called her not "Shizuki-san", but "Hitomi-chan" or just a simple "Hitomi" – like how he addressed Sayaka by given name alone. She giggled at the thought, tightening the muffler round her neck, burying her face further into the fabric.

It was a cold morning. Within the small woodwork grove lined with unblossomed cherry trees, sunlight spilling onto the world a deep yellow punctuated only by the earthy brown and amber of wood houses in the distance and shadows strewn all around and all dead still sweet silent as the grave and then Hitomi maybe she could hear something whisper to her.

A gust of hot wind blew past her ear.

"Hitomi-tan."  
"Eeh!"

She gave a start, and spun around to see Kyousuke grinning broadly behind her, as if he were a grade-schooler who had played a prank on his crush, waiting for her reaction. Hitomi heaved a short sigh and gave a soft smile of reproach.

"Ohaiyou, Kamijou-kun."  
"Ohaiyou, Shizuki-san."  
"Mou, why is everyone acting like Sayaka-san so early in the morning?"  
"Ahaha, gomen ne," he chuckled in apology, fiddling with his wooden pianissimo collarpin, "Did you wait long?"  
"Not at all."

Visibly excited, she set off first towards school. Kyousuke followed closely behind her right as they walked the unpeopled forested walkway.

"But what happened, Kamijou-kun?"  
"Oh, well, you see, Shizuki-san, it's a long story."  
"We aren't short on time."  
"It's a bit hard to explain too…"  
"That's alright. I don't think I'm too bad at being a listener."  
"I see," and he nodded, looking impressed.

With that characteristic soft and charming smile of his, he continued with conviction.

"That's very good for you. It's important to be a good listener. Very important. Good listening skills are important and well-demanded soft skills these days, and they help make all your interactions much more pleasant. I'm proud that I've got such a competent and independent friend like you, Shizuki-san."  
"Ah… mou," she blushed in embarrassment and muttered out, "you flatter me, Kamijou-kun; I'm not that praiseworthy."  
"No, no, I think you are, Shizuki-san."  
"In that case, I'm proud that you hold me in such high esteem, Kamijou-kun."

Stopping and turning to face Kyousuke, Hitomi bowed to him respectfully.

"Thank you, Shizuki-san. I am most delighted."

Kyousuke bowed graciously in return.

Then they gazed into each other's eyes for a moment before laughing at the sheer silliness of the scene.

"I see you've changed your hairstyle today," he chimed on.

She swung her head in fluid motion to show off her swinging ponytail.

"Is it nice?"  
"It's refreshing."  
"That's not much of a compliment."  
"Haha, I suppose not."  
"Mou. Meanie."

As they walked on, Hitomi playfully hopped onto a raised stone ledge and walked with poise down the narrow platform. Extending his hand, Kyousuke lightly grabbed on to Hitomi's hand to offer support.

"Anyways," she piped up once more, "what happened?"  
"Ahh. Nothing much, really."  
"But something must certainly have happened for you to be running late. Kamijou-kun. It is very mysterious."  
"Indeed, it is very mysterious."

As they crossed the threshold of the stone pavement and went onto the long, arched bridge, Hitomi could see broken catches of her reflection on the clear stream underneath.

"Then let's trace out what you did this morning and see if we can find out what went wrong and where. We can't have you being late for school next time if the same problem crops up again, now. So first, you woke up?"  
"Yes."  
"Then, you ate breakfast?"  
"Yes."  
"Then, you showered and dressed for school?"  
"Yes."  
"Then, you practiced the violin until you realised you were running late?"  
"No."  
"So you just left the house?"  
"Not really."  
"Then what happened?"  
"The violin practiced me."

He gave a sheepish grin, scratching his head.

"…oh well. I thought it was something like that."  
"Sorry, I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you somehow."  
"In that case, can I ask you a question?"  
"Sure, go ahead; ask away."  
"What did it feel like? Losing your arm, that is."  
"Well, you see, how do I say it… at first, it was really inconvenient. It took me a long time to get used to jerking off with my right hand, but I'd say it was effort well spent. Now I am more ambidextrous. It has improved my violin technique."

Hearing that, she quickened her pace and widened the gap between the two. Maybe it really wouldn't have been better for Kyousuke to be like that.

"Ah… Shizuki-san? Shizuki-san? Are you mad?"

She slowed down and turned slightly towards Kyousuke, though not meeting his eyes, revealing a furious blush of embarrassment across her cheeks.

"Shizuki-san…"  
"… of course not."  
"Thank goodness."  
"I can't come to hate you."  
"Oh, yes, you can."  
"…"

A pause in conversation. They continued walking down the forested path. It was getting dark. It was getting chilly.

"Don't you trust me?"  
"What are you saying? Of course I do."

The road was no longer paved. Howling wind howling wind. Swinging ponytail. Hers and his.

"Ah!"

She was not looking ahead, and almost fell into the lake. The lake almost fell into her.

"Oh, careful! That was close."  
"Thanks, Kamijou-kun… no – Kyousuke."

As she caught her footing, her head fell back, and the Milky Way flowed down inside her with a roar.

Kyousuke let go of her shoulders, and grasped her hand once more, tighter. He led the way, his ponytail swinging behind him. Roaming without direction.

Then the end of the land. How did they get from the city to this frontier? As far as the eye could see henceforth was an abyssal deep blue of the sky the sea. The more she tried to make out the horizon the more she felt lost in the unfathomable depths of colour as if the blue was staring back at her.

Was this who Hitomi was?

Yes, there were times when she not only forgot who she was, but even that she was, and so forgot to be. Ineluctable modality.

"You don't mind if I called you that, do you?"  
"I'm fine with that. After all, you're my girlfriend. How couldn't I be fine with it?"

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

It was midnight. The rain was beating on the windows.

"There's a boat there. We should get on. The tide is rising."  
"Alright."

There was nothing **outside**.

"Ready?"  
"Ready."  
"Then, let's sit back and enjoy the scenery."

They floated in the river, with the reflection of the high moon pretty on the water surface. The river that blinked in and out underneath the sun – that beautiful river. In a rowboat. Kyousuke was probably manning the oars – his eyes drunk on moonlight. Hitomi didn't notice – she remembered it so, remembered it out of nothing, creation ex nihilo.

She wanted to reach out and touch the moon, just a few inches away from her on the water surface, unperturbed. The water was completely still.

But it remained nothing more than a passing whim, drunken moonlight. Urashima Taro in a boat with Li Bai.

"Say, Kyousuke,"

Moonbeams shone down, blanketing all the world in a vast expanse of velvet blue. As the boat droned past the landscape languidly, the gentle rocking of the boat settled Hitomi's heart. Calm, sequestered, she listened keenly to the sound of the waves collapsing onto one another. In the distance, by the horizon, she could intermittently catch the moonlight reflected on the sea, blinking in, blinking out, slowly. Behind her, the night lights of the city sparkled.

But there was something more beautiful, more magical in her sight, redolent of the twinkling stars in spring that sink at dawn into depths of violet skies. Limits of the diaphane.

"Yes?"

And he turned to look at Hitomi, with a peaceful smile on his face, as though he were happy just to hear her speak. Silver ponytail, dull fang, fair skin glimmered beneath the canopy of the night.

There was something supernatural about the scene, like he were a phantom, loitering thus on a rocking boat, so serene and poised, between the realms of being and non-being. Everywhere abouts, the murmur of departure rang. The stars, like candlewicks, thrust forth from behind blue veils so brightly, as if they were falling with the swiftness of the void. Maybe, maybe – if she let a finger loose, and touched him then, maybe he would disappear suddenly? Turn into a crane. Disappear into the night. Thinking that, she wanted to frown in trepidation. What if he were to suddenly vanish and leave her a lonely castaway in the middle of the sea.

"Suki," she quietly hummed out and snugly sighed.

With a slight smile, she reached out for Kyousuke, gently placing her hand on top of his. Warm. Even though all touch change. On a cold night, with the nary a strong wind blowing, it seemed as if time had almost stopped where they were.

"Ah..." he fumbled and blushed, before replying, "Me too - suki. Daisuki."

Moonlight penetrated the depths of the sea but no trace was left in the water.

"If," she began slowly, almost muttering quietly, while her eyes began to grow heavy and a peaceful feeling overcame her like so many surges of water, "someone asked you, if you could hate someone, love someone, or be faithful to someone, forever, how would you reply?"  
"I… I don't think I would lie. I would say I cannot promise something that is not in my power. All I can then say is that I can only continue the same things as if I were still in love, in hatred, in faith."  
"But why? You don't believe in everlasting love?"  
"It's not that I don't want to believe in it. It's just – well, if you choose to laugh, does that make your laughter insincere?"

Was this who Kyousuke was?

"I don't think there's a difference. When I practice the violin, I read the score and play the piece with borrowed emotion, those of the composer's music. I mean, art is a lie. But eventually, it becomes my own. Why should feelings only be involuntary?"

The rain that streamed out of some distant sky pooled in every leaf and blossom of the luxuriantly branching cherry tree nearby, and a passing gust of wind caught the tree off-guard, so that it found itself toppling the heavy drops down from their precarious perch aloft with a sudden shower of

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

sound.

Hitomi turned her head.

She thought she heard faint harmonies bewitching like slumber, and near her grew a murmuring like the broken song of a sad and gentle voice – spirits travelling at the speed of light, travelling like a dream of the night.

"If someone wants to act as if he were something, stubbornly and sincerely, won't he eventually find it hard to be anything else? So the hypocrite who always plays the same role finally ceases to be a hypocrite. Someone who acts friendly, and tries to stir up friendly feelings within him everywhere he goes, he becomes a friendly person. Even I – I've forgotten what I was like before I began playing the violin. Now, some part of me feels like I am the violin."

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

It was the skylark.

"So, I guess, in the end, I think you're right. I don't – I can't believe in everlasting love. I'm sorry. To begin with, what is love?"

Then, he chuckled a bit to herself.

He might have whispered under his breath a short prayer: _God, kill me._

It was midnight. The rain was beating on the windows.

There was nothing **outside**.

* * *

 _Hoo-hoKEkyo! Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

It was not midnight. It was not raining.

There was nothing **outside**.

The skylark sang.

* * *

 _water._

* * *

"But – if there's one thing I can promise you, it's that right now…"

The moon was beautiful. Beauty within beauty.

"Ah."

There was no end to it all. The sea, the sky, the nightlight illuminating their tranquil faces, as the boat floated about, bringing them somewhere further away, away from everything, to where there.

"Sleep well, Shizuki-san."

There were almost too many stars in the sky to be true.

In place of his absent violin, Kyousuke sang a little lullaby to rest Hitomi's heart at ease.

Their reflections on the moonlit water surface, as they floated away on their rowboat, all alone in the middle of the river canal that stretched across the city, happy, at ease, shalalalalala – shalalalalalalala – shalalalal _ **bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukd**_ idn't she remember?

To be or not to be – what it means to be human.

All things must pass. Nothing lasts forever. Ineluctable modality of being.

Of course, she remembered; but she wished that she had not. And for a while, she mulled over the bitter fact as she silently strode on towards school.

What is happiness? What good is it? It is poverty and dirt and a miserable ease.

What is love? What good is it? It is poverty and dirt and a miserable ease.

That which passes – it is poverty and dirt and a miserable ease. And since all things must pass…

Her pianissimo hairpin tremolato. The same old song. In the midst of life. Ave Maria. Shaking her head, Hitomi willed the unpleasant thoughts away and concentrated on the heartfelt warmth she felt nestled in her hand. Kyousuke was walking alongside her.

She smiled to herself and tightened her grip on his hand. Kyousuke reciprocated silently.

Then she squinnied to the right to catch a glimpse of Kyousuke.

There was no one else around; they were already running late, after all. Their footsteps echoed across the wide walkway, disappearing into the surrounding brownery, with an occasional crinkling of crushed leaves upon their feet as the musty scent of autumn circled around the couple.

He looked straight ahead, somber. Seeing that, Hitomi felt somewhat dismayed; she had hoped for him to be smiling at least.

Every once in a while, Hitomi wondered how things would have gone if Kyousuke had shied away in embarrassment during the confession and interpreted her "suki" as that of emptiness, of an empty stomach. Maybe he would have invited her for dinner with his friends, and then Hitomi would have been dejected at the indirect rejection, and then, then, then – then life would have carried on as per normal.

Did it really matter if Kyousuke had accepted her? She furrowed her brows in concentration and discomfort at the intrusive thought. What would it have mattered had Kyousuke rejected her? Her feelings for him would hardly have wavered, probably. And even if they did – then life would still go on. For what purpose? To what end? Poverty and dirt and a miserable ease? And she wondered: do I really deserve all this? This ease and this comfort? Is this really where I ought to be going?

Nevertheless, that all too likely possibility had not come true.

She had so many things to tell him, but the words would never escape her. Hadn't she fantasized in the middle of the night, when she had tired from thrashing about her bed in a desperate attempt to sleep, of holding his comfortable hands in an ecstatic winter sunrise, when all is dreamy sweet silent as a chapel, with the dawning light repelling the distant mist of mountains, as they sat in the cozy confines of her room, looking sometimes away, sometimes into his warm eyes, and telling him exactly what she had always wanted to say over a cup of coffee, slowly but surely, stumbling on a word or too, her throat constricting, a burst of exhilaration coursing through her veins, tearing up when she could not hold in the emotions any longer – didn't she wish Kyousuke knew her for who she was really was, for her entirety?

How many times she wished she could tell him both her joys and her sorrows, but she would stop short before his presence and listen to him say, in a voice that was so uniquely comforting to hear: What's wrong, Shizuki-san? Are you feeling cold? Is there anything on your mind? How was your day? You look good today – I mean, as usual, you look good, but you're particularly better-looking today. Ohaiyou, Shizuki-san. Aren't I dashing? Haha, that was obnoxious of me, wasn't it? Where do you want to go after this? Where do I want to go? Actually, I was thinking of going to the CD shop, but I'm fine with following you wherever you're going. It's been a long day; are you tired? Need a backrub? Are you free next Saturday? Shizuki-san, when did you first become interested in me?

She wanted to tell him. That when she was next to him, nothing was wrong. That it was beginning to feel chilly; the end of autumn was upon them after all. That all too many important things were on her mind but they never lingered too long in her memory. That he was silly for asking that question; the day hadn't even begun yet, though seeing him in the morning was good enough a start. That she appreciated his high esteem of her beauty, and that he was as dashing as ever and that she didn't want to go anywhere, just relax and talk, maybe in the café by the station, and that she'd rather go to CD shop first since he wanted to, and that she didn't need a backrub, or his grubby hands on her petite figure, that she was very free next Saturday – she would see to it. That she couldn't remember when she had fallen for him: it had seemed like such a long time since she had to wrestle with her feelings for Sayaka.

Even when she had confessed to Kyousuke, in the evening by the fountain on the bridge at the park, she found herself struggling to say the word: suki. Hence, with her courageous spirit and eloquence of speech, she wound herself hither and thither before laying it out plainly.

On the way back, he stammered out to her in bashfulness.

"Y-you know, can we… hold hands?"  
"I-it's kind of embarrassing when everybody's watching. B – but I'm fine with it if it's after the school path."  
"Y-yeah, you're right. After we get there then."  
"Umu."

Her pianissimo hairpin tremolando.

They had not changed much since then. The dull, aching pain she suffered never went away.

Didn't she know? There is guilt also in loving.

Then why delay? All things must pass. All things must pass away. Hitomi knew well. Childhood living is easy to do.

But every time she tried to speak, to convey what she truly wanted to tell Kyousuke, messages piled up in the annals of history like so many fallen petals, she felt a violent passion rumble in her breast, and she would fall quiet, happy, in love. Even so many months since they began dating, she still found it hardest to breathe whenever she betrayed her innermost feelings.

"Ne, Shizuki-san?"

His words came suddenly.

"Hai?"  
"I…"

He paused.

It was always darkest at daybreak – because the light brings about the most intense of shadows. Kyousuke stood golden in the sun. Behind the blinding light, the look of restrained pain clearly marring his expression. Blinding. Perhaps that was better for her.

"I, you see, I have something to tell you."  
"Yes?"

Perhaps she envied Kyousuke for his ability to speak out when it really mattered. Didn't she want to confess again: there have been many things that I have not told you, but it is not that I don't want you to know them – they are not secrets at all, and if I could I would like much to tell you how I feel, and let you know who I really am, thoroughly, profoundly. It will give me the greatest joy if you did.

There is nothing stopping me, but I still cannot tell you – do you know how frustrating it is to be with you? To not be able to express myself? Every day, I sometimes wish I were closer to you, and that you, to me, for all that we are. There is never enough time. And – I – I – ah, I just can't say it. I'm so weak. I'm sorry.

"I have to leave."  
"Eh?"

She whipped her head towards him in astonishment.

Then she saw.

In the golden dawn, Kyousuke stood tall, eyes narrowed with a careful kindness, his head bowed slightly low. She could make out a slight frown on his face, and his shoulder seemed to tremble somewhat as he tightened his hold on Hitomi's hands to a gentle but firm clasp. And that was all he was doing: standing in a quiet place, where on his kind shoulders through a checkerwork of leaves the sun flung spangles, dancing strings, golden. His light, erratic breathing attested to the great tension he felt plucking at his heart. Kyousuke seemed to be in such a state of anxious fervour that Hitomi thought she had seen a reflection of her own self in him.

"Leave? Where?"  
"Vienna."

Affannoso. His measured words punctuated the stillness of the atmosphere. At that moment, with only the harsh dawnlight shining on their bodies and not a single hush from everywhere abouts, they were stranded in a world of their own, belonging to them alone. A blessed world where they were free to tell each other everything they had always longed to say.

"When will you be leaving?"  
"There's still some time," he said slowly, "At the end of the year: December."  
"So you're filing all the paperwork now?"  
"Haha, yeah. It's such a pain."  
"It is, isn't it?"

They stood still where they were, neither looking into the other's eyes.

"Ne, Shizuki-chan."  
"Yes?"  
"I'm sorry."  
"Haha, don't be. You have nothing to apologize for."  
"I… I – "

Kyousuke's words came in between laboured sunbursts, breathing turned ragged, eyes roaming without direction. Rubbing the back of his hands with her thumbs in slow, circular motions to calm them both down, Hitomi smiled softly at the ground.

"You don't have to say anything else. I understand where you're coming from."  
"I love you," he spoke in English.

If the light had not been so blinding – if Hitomi had looked up into his eyes – Hitomi would have seen Kyousuke let a quiet tear roll down his bleared eyes. He forced his words out one by one.

"That's – that's what I… wanted to say."  
"…a-ah."

Feeling Hitomi's hold weaken, almost slipping off, Kyousuke tightened his grip on her cold, sweaty palm. He continued strolling up the path, leading her, taking care not to let Hitomi see.

"So, when will you be coming back?"  
"I don't know."  
"Then, I guess I will have to go to you, if you make me wait too long."

She smiled.

"Ahaha, that's right."

He gave a small chuckle.

Looking forward, Kyousuke stared straight into the spangling sun, shadows slanted behind him.

"Really…"  
"Hmm?"

Crackled. Whispered. And when he finally looked Hitomi in the eyes – how gentle she was in the gentle sunshine! How nice it would be to be wrapped up in her warm embrace just one more time! How nice it would be if he could be forgiven! How nice it would be if this – just this – love! Love! Last forever! Together forever! Or at least just one more year.

"Really, I, I mean, but"

Waking up in the middle of a Saturday morning, heading out to the café they frequented, sitting down on the wooden stools, listening,  
listening out for the sound of her footsteps, as he waited in the empty cozy place, wondering what song to play for her next time and  
what would he compose?  
In the morning light, in the morn – the dawn of daybreak – when the shadows are deepest, when the lights are deepest, when the happinesses yes  
the joyces yes yes the sorrowses the comfortses yes are all yes deepest yes, wouldn't it be nice?  
Wouldn't it be nice if not all things must pass?

", ah… you see, uhmm,"

Wouldn't it be nice if they could stay together  
forever and see each other the next morning for certain, uninterrupted by any sudden vanishments,  
and while the time away in each other's company,  
rested,  
rested,  
resting together in silent bliss.

"I just,  
just…  
ah"

Then maybe they could redo their initial confession maybe Kyousuke could try confessing first and tell her suki daisuki and have her blush and cry and smile how very cute that would be maybe he could one day propose to her after all he already had a high if slightly unstable income and a ring all he would need was a shiny ring to top it all off or maybe there wouldn't need to be a ring or maybe maybe there wouldn't need to be a proposal maybe they could just be happy happy as they were to spend the day with each other as their abodes and refuges from the harsh cycles of living and have the fruit cake they bought from the new shop the other day but god it tasted awful too many nuts too many fruits but if there weren't any fruits why would it be called a fruit cake but she said raspberries were her favourite on the sofa legs entangled resting relaxing the summer breeze was hot so turned on the ac and cuddling to an afternoon nap but as his consciousness left him didn't he see the most angelic beautiful thing he'd ever seen in the light in the golden afternoon light and there is not a single shadow in the cozy room hitomi's green wavy always wavy hair shone like the sun spnagling and her soft braething upon his breast the peaceful wamrth of her body his heart welld up with joy joy what had he been livng all his life for this this jst this moment of squesterd peace like the sun riisng from a strmy sea and the stars twnklng from the veradna my god I lve her yes I do and what I woudld give to be wth her til the end of time yes I do yes yes

"aaahhhhh… th,

th, tha,  
th,

ank – k,  
y – y,

y, ou…"

Wouldn't it be nice if not all things were poverty and dirt and a miserable ease?

"H, h…"

Then he stopped.

His mouth left ajar.

"Kamijou-kun? Is it cold?"

Letting go of his icy hand, she moved forward to check on him.

And – Kyousuke

And tears streamed down face and smiled so beautifully and no don't look not yet but yes or no but but but but yes yes I lve you oh God maybe just maybe if I could one day maybe I'd propose to her or maybe she'd propose to me because you are too shy she says on a nice boat floating blinking in and blinking out like the sea underneath the heaventree of the stars and god please maybe please yes so lovely her eyes I wanted to turn away but they drew me drew me in in her sadness and you've made me wait for so very long now here I am to see you don't even send letters from Vienna do you know how lonely I was I mean I promised our happiness would continue on forever so I wont leave you behind I wont but she didn't ask didn't say why did you leave me behind I wanted her to I wanted her to but but oh god god god why she smiled and so bright why please no yes yes I wanted to cry it's all my fault I'm sorry but I you Kyousuke Kyousuke Kyousuke you and suddenly kissed me I flapped flustered flustered like what why how why come back for someone like me go on out be free be happy not not to me not to someone like me I cannot please no I cannot make you happy I cannot I cannot no you you deserve better but god why what how a miracle so long I have finally found home found home found home and comfort at last and free I am free and happy happy happy still alive yes alive yes yes that I am yes alive still alive that everything is yes and after that long kiss I nearly lost yes my breath I cried and cried and cried and cried and yes yes yes I said yes yes and then she yes asked me with her eyes to ask yes again yes I won't let you go again yes yes and then I asked her yes would she yes to say yes sorry for making you feel lonely I promise yes to do my best to you yes you and yes my heart was going mad and yes I said yes I will suki suki yes suki daisuki Aishiteru.

"I… I…"  
"Shh. Shh. It's okay. It's okay."

A gentlekindblessed bless gentle kind, gentle, gentle warmth embraced him.

"so – so…"  
"I'm still here. There's still some time, isn't there?"

Kyousuke hugged back tightly, relishing in the sweet comfort of warmth, all embarrassment forgotten on the lonely autumn street all sweet pure silent as wordless love.

"Thank you," he let out at last as a parched sigh of happiness.  
"What for?"  
"I don't really know. I, just had, to say it."  
"I see. Then, thank you too."

Smile. Because you are like the sun.

They uncoupled and continued onwards, hand in hand.

"Good luck out there."  
"I'll keep in contact."  
"Mhmm."  
"Try not to forget me."  
"Mhmm."

Was this who Hitomi was?

A liar.

Hitomi well knew hers were all lies – white lies to escape poverty and dirt and a miserable ease. When Kyousuke goes to Vienna, she would burn all her bridges with him. Maybe even make him think she was unfeeling, insensitive scum who had only played with his feelings.

"Then, let's go?"  
"Umu."

She smiled to herself in a dull, aching pain.

All things must pass.

But maybe– but maybe there is a Heaven, an eternal Heaven.

Yes. Yes. A blessed Heaven, bless.

A raspberry Heaven where nothing is poverty and dirt and a miserable ease.

Raspberry Heaven! – Where you won't be alone – a promise kept for Heaven.

Raspberry Heaven! – Only sweet tears in Heaven; smile again in Heaven: the gentle dreams of Heaven.

Raspberry Heaven! – Hold me tightly again, like you did today, in the fun dreams of Heaven.

Raspberry Heaven!

"I'll come back to you."

Thus spoke Héroïque Hitomi, glowing and strong, like a morning sun emerging from behind the shadow of dark mountains.

When the flowers of paradise have beautifully bloomed, maybe then we will meet again.

But until then, she would wander aimlessly, disappearing down the rivers and roads, walking shores and cities slipping sand time and time again until again, again she finds the home she had always been looking for, the home from which she had long ago left behind.

He smiled.

Bless Kyousuke. Bless, goodbye.

"Shi – Hitomi…"  
"Hmm?"

She hummed the warmest hmm she could manage, as she struggled to keep from frowning.

"Hitomi…"  
"Mm?"  
"Hitomi. Hitomi."  
"Nm."

And then he gestured with his lovely eyes.

"See over there?"

Graey. Confusing monotonous lively graey of everydayness.

"That red flower over there, by the river?"  
"The Higan flower?"

Bright, sun shines. Madonnina red. Behind, blue. Sky – baby-blue. Ave Maria. A song. A prayer. A way of life. Away full of grace, full of grace. Away. Away. Stamens upturned towards the sky. Red. Colour of blood and periods and punctuations. Bulb poisonous. Not good for eating. But all good medicines are bitter, deshou? How very like a hand. Many fingers, cushy palm, never holds sand, sand slips away. Never holds water in the rain. And they come after the rain in bunches, the sun after the storm. The flower of fall, never good in frosty snow. Keep it warm, safe.

"Yeah. I don't know what it symbolizes though."

What was it that Sakura-san had mentioned? I.H.S. I have sinned. I have suffered. Red shines still, still shines. Mado-san's black panther. Black panther in a gentle kingdom of chance and error? Listens to a maiden's prayer. Hears through from the wild. Save amidst despair. Safely sleep in its care, though we are banished, outcast, reviled, sooner sinners. Bless, everything blessed in the blessed hour, from the ice lands to the green lands.

"Symbolism? Death, isn't it? And eternal separation of lovers."

The hour of death, blessed. Ave Maria. Only in Latin. Schubert has other things in mind. So does Kyousuke. He will always return to playing it. The violin his only tenor. But my piano – mine. All mine. Only mine.

"O – Of course, there's more. It means independence and that I'm thinking of you alone. It also refers to passion, reunion, and eagerly looking forward to the day when we meet again. But it can also mean sad memories, and giving up."  
"Then what does it actually mean? They all contradict one another."  
"All of the meanings, I guess."  
"How do people tell when it means what?"  
"By context, probably."  
"But there'll never be a context so specific."  
"Hmm… then I guess it just means 'the other side', wherever that is."  
"Ah, how inconclusive."

They carried on walking in silence until the school could be seen in the vague distance and the sound of little chatter buzzed from beyond the lone footpath.

"Actually, Hitomi, do you know what else it's called?"  
"Not really. What else is it called?"  
"The red spider lily, in English. And here, the flower of the dead. The fox flower. The abandoned child flower. The ghost flower. The flower from Heaven's ceiling; or the canopy flower. The bride's hairpin. The serpentine rotation. The samadhi flower. And there's one more… I can't remember. Now that I think of it, all the names are contradictory too."

Bamboo shadows sweep the road but no dust stirs all soft sweet silent as the grave.

"And there, underneath the tree. That's a dandelion. And that's a borage. Camellia. A red rose! Craspedia. Borage. Yellow iris. Epiphyllum. White daisy…"

As he kept on talking to fill the empty pockets of silence, to make up for lost time, and say, say, say as much as he needed to say, every now and every then, Hitomi nodded in acknowledgement, nodded out of acknowledgement, nodding in, and nodding out, and turned to look at Kyousuke's bright face, his starstruck eyes, shining, all lit in the colour of the morning: white of the light, yellow of the sun, bright-purple of the clouds, occasional flashing blue of the river, abyssal and unfathomable, so clear, so bright, like the sea on a sunny day, blinking in, blinking out, and – feeling comfortably rested, comfortably alone, allone, alloone, with Kyousuke, love, simple happeness, simply happly, they sat down on the tatami mat she laid out on the park grounds, lying around in the lazy summer evening, Kyousuke gazing up at the clouds beside, smiling to herself, humming a little happy tune he heard long long ago in her memories, the bright orange evening, how she felt!

"Kyousuke-kun, can you pass me the tea flask? It's just by your side."  
"Umph," he heaved, plunged his body up into a sitting position, "here you are."  
"Thanks."

Bpff. He plopped back down.

Calm. A wave of languor drifted past her mind as the warm, balmy wind wafted by and she felt! Sleepy.

She tipped the flask over and gracefully filled three cups of ocha.

Tock. Tock. Tock. The tea made a small glopping sound as it streamed down.

"Here. One for you. And one for me."  
"Arigatou, Hitomi."

Serenity was that which was beautiful.

She brought the cup to her lips and sipped away slowly.

When the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of spires and hills, and the pigeons fly to their nest in twos, threes, fours - specks in the distant sky;

"That cloud looks like… Saotome-sensei."

Strange white bird.

"Really? I can't see it."  
"See there? Look closer. The slanted eyes, the puffed-up nose, and the large snout."  
"Ah… I think I see it now. But that still looks nothing like Sensei."  
"Can't deny that, haha."

When the sun set, the sound of the wind, the wind that pierced through the cover of the sky, descending downwards, blanketing all that lay beneath, and the sound of the hum of the insects that filled her hazy vision as she looked up, waiting,

"And that cloud looks like…"  
"A cloud-shaped tree?"

waiting, waiting, only seemed to make the world at dusk all the more fuzzy, indistinct, as if she was floating amidst the vague atmosphere, the nothing-happeness, waiting in anticipation for something she knew would never happen. Tomorrow a morrow amor o tomorrow never knows.

She lay herself down beside Kyousuke and cuddled up to his comfortable shoulder.

"That one?"  
"A cloud-shaped skyscraper."  
"Over there?"  
"Cloud-shaped Prime Minister."

All the world, doused the colour of the morning, alight. Beauty within beauty. Serenity within serenity.

"Hitomi."  
"Hmm?"  
"I'm taking a nap first. Can you wake me up later on?"  
"When?"  
"Anytime."  
"Okay."  
"Thanks, Hitomi."

Closing his eyes, one arm pillowing his head and the other, intertwined with Hitomi's arm, he fell into a slow slumber.

With a gentle hand, she stroked his bangs off his forehead. The high wind blew them back into place. Silver shone with the colours of the morning. Looking at his sleeping face, Hitomi giggled to herself.

Drifting in, drifting out, she felt herself begin to slacken, peacefully, quietly. In this ease, in this comfort, the warm autumn breeze tumbled and shook the trees in the distance, giving a faint rustling sound that filled the air. Clouds, ever so slowly, floated past the orange skies.

Softly clinging to Kyousuke, Hitomi's eyelids gradually gave way and closed, as the last of the day filtered through her bleary vision, and in her dazed state, she could almost hear Kyousuke calling her name again and again.

"Hitomi."

She smiled in happeness, silent by his side – words would never be enough to convey what she had to convey.

"Hitomi!"

Not yet.

And if, if she were to have any last regrets: it would be that she never got to tell him a small and sincere "thank you", or one last "see you tomorrow".

"Oi! Hitomi!"

Wouldn't it be nice if they could be together forever?

Sliding into one last fleeting dream, tears pooled in her half-lidded eyes, obscuring her thin swathes of vision into a mosaic of bright swimming colours.

.

.

A glimpse of the future. A blessing. A bless.

.

.

* * *

 _To-don. To-don._

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _._

A winter morning at the new, pristine station, when Kyousuke was to depart for the airport.

.

.

Sitting on a sleek, metallic bench, with nothing on her person save red-rimmed glasses safely tucked in her breast pocket, she watched the dawn rising. Her back was hunched over and her head hung down. She was tired.

She looked up at the glass dome ceiling. Out into the sky. Everywhere was white and grey, skins of ash. It seemed to have stopped raining, but the sky still looked cold and heavy, like a sheet of lead. Snow drifted upon the top of the dome, heavy. And the sun, eclipsed by ash-drifts, seeped in a pall of limpid light throughout the station.

* * *

 _To-don. To-don._

* * *

Even though the station platform was indoors, with heaters functioning too effectively, the cold of early winter and her loneliness seemed to grip her whole body. Slowly burning, life dies like a candle, and never resting, time flows like a river. Picture memories paper ashes.

* * *

 _To-don. To-don._

* * *

Why was she there? She didn't remember.

She never wanted to be there.

Where one can no longer love, one should – pass by, pass away.

But she was there anyways. In her hand, a Shinkansen ticket to Tokyo. One way. A journey to the west, homewards bound. The air tickets, too, hastily prepared – flying white birds. Even if for just a little while, she would stay by Kyousuke's side

There was no turning back.

* * *

 _To-don._ _To-don._

* * *

The gates were still closed. In a moment, the train would arrive. Until then, the gates were closed.

* * *

 _To-don._ _To-don._

* * *

Then the crowd came pouring forth. She looked around hesitantly for Kyousuke, feet and hand beginning to cloak themselves in cold sweat.

Where? Where? Why?

* * *

 _To-don. To-don._

* * *

There was his grey bob, floating in that sea.

He passed her by, only a few centimetres away. Reach out!

* * *

 _To-don._ _To-don._

* * *

She watched him go.

"Your attention please, the Kagayaki 5 – 0 – 1 for Tokyo will soon arrive at track 23. For your safety, please stand behind the yellow line. Thank you."

* * *

 _To-don._ _To-don._

* * *

.

.

Still sitting on that warm wooden bench, she watched the sun rise slowly from the ashes with no one by her side but her lone shadow.

* * *

 _To-don._ _To-don._

* * *

"Careful, stand clear!" came a cry. Soon after, the blaring of a whistle.

.

.

.

And already the train to Tokyo heartlessly, soundlessly began moving away.

* * *

 _To-don._ _To-don._

* * *

One after another, the windows slid past her. In one of them, she found Kyousuke. The seat next to his was empty. Kyousuke's face grew small.

* * *

 _To-don._ _To-don._

* * *

Gazing disconsolately out the glass, his eyes and Hitomi's found each other suddenly.

* * *

"Hitomi?"

* * *

 _To-don._ _To-don._

* * *

He wanted to reach out towards her and call out for her.

* * *

"Hitomi! Hitomi!"

* * *

 _To-don._ _To-don._

* * *

But she frowned and turned away. She turned around to watch him see her ago: her head over a shoulder, rere regardant.

* * *

 _To-don._ _To-d_

* * *

"HITOMI!"

* * *

 _Todn._

* * *

Her eyes gave him no sign of love or blessing or recognition or last regrets.

* * *

 _To –_

* * *

.

.

The train disappeared into the soft snow, shining sun beneath the leaden sky.

.

.

.

.

In a daze, Hitomi stood up and took a tentative step forward. She continued to stare after it.

She had come to the gates and had waited for them to open. Yet when they did, she simply remained there and wondered if she really could pass through them. She gave herself no choice but to go forth, but she could not find the strength she needed.

Now the gates were closed.

.

.

.

.

She looked behind her at the path that had led her to the gates. She lacked the courage to go back. She then looked at the great gates which would never open for her again. She was never meant to pass through them. Nor was she meant to be content until she was allowed to do so. She was, then, one of those unfortunate beings who must stand by the gates, unable to move, and patiently wait for the day to end.

.

.

.

.

Then a cold gust of wind made her turn outside.

A white world. A comforting snowdrift of forgetting.

.

Snow was falling all over Mitakihara.

.

.

The snow, white, silver, grey – ashes, all, drifted bleakly, blanketing the sun, its dull, limpid light still shining down a blessing and mercy upon the worlds.

.

.

.

It was falling on every part of the meadows, on the skyscrapers in the city centre – misty mountains of the modern world, falling softly upon the middle school and, farther, softly falling into the calm lightless river.

.

.

It was falling, too, upon every part of the proud, lonely church on the border of the city where a fire had broken out many years ago and its parishioners lay buried – their ashes still scattered about the cool soil where bright flowers blanketed in snow now bloomed.

.

.

It lay thickly drifted atop the conservatories, the grand concert halls, where she would continue to step foot into day in, day out, searching aimlessly for a flicker of the light that had once touched her world.

.

.

It falls, falls, and the snow will seep into her sleep, on her dreams, into the nothing-new roads she would travel as she went along day after day after day plotless forever raining ash all the light in her life forever dying down on the shadow of the person she used to be.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

* * *

 _ **bababadalg**_ h _ **haraghtakamminarronnkonnbronn**_ i _ **tonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhou**_ t _ **nawnskawntoohoohoordenenth**_ o _ **urnukbababadalg**_ m _ **haraghtakamminarronnko**_ i _ **nnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk**_

* * *

"Hitomi-chan!"  
"Mmm…"

Warm grass. Shadows. Dark figures hovering.

The mid-noon sun scorch.

"She's awake!"  
"You okay, Hitomi?"  
"Sayaka-san? What?"  
"Madoka-san? Kamijou-kun? What happened?"  
"You don't remember? You were playing football, and then you suddenly collapsed."  
"A-ahh…"  
"Are you feeling giddy? Weak?"  
"No… not at all."  
"That's relieving to hear. Here, have some water first."  
"Everyone, please remember to hydrate yourselves! It's a hot day today. Thank you!"  
"Hitomi-chan, can you stand?"  
"Mm. I can."  
"Then, a-ah! Careful and slow. Okay. Let's bring you to the infirmary, ne, Hitomi-chan?"  
"Mmm. Arigatou."

Kyousuke was back, by her side. All was right.

But even then, despite having awoken, the luxury of guilt and sorrow that she had indulged in left behind a lasting impression: a determination to live as if she were dead, and the conviction that she should never have been born.

* * *

Following the minor ordeal, regularity returned to all.

Hitomi was brought to the infirmary, where she hoped to rest in peace. Sitting upright on the bed, she smiled as she usually did and requested to be left alone, for, she said, she was still too unwell to entertain persons and guests. Seeing that there was no one attending in the infirmary, Madoka gave her an uneasy glance, but ultimately acquiesced to her friend's wishes. All her classmates who had crowded around dispersed. They must have been reluctant to abandon the sight.

Kyouko flashed a fanged smirk of admonishment and gave her characteristic well-wishes, before placing a bottle of water and an apple by her bedside. Then, Sayaka shot a searing look of worry at Hitomi. Feeling shame wash over her, Hitomi could not meet her gaze.

She thanked them for their concern and sent them on their way.

Finally, only Kyousuke was left.

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

And the infirmary had only recently been refitted – it had become a bona-fide 'Japanese' room.

The floor was fitted with lacquered, dark-brown wooden boards. Walls, once sparkling white, had been repainted a dull beige. Everything there had been touched upon with softer, more muted colours.

There was no denying the cleanliness in the old layout; every nook and cranny was pure white. Yet the shining surfaces only seemed to emphasize infirmity into her. Certainly, there was no need to be reminded so forcefully of her discomfort and disease. The cleanliness of what could be seen only reminded of what dirt might have been there where she could not see.

Now, neither the excessive glitter of metal and glass could intimidate patients anymore from their repose, nor excessive illumination frighten any soul. Only a feeble gleam skirted the edges of furniture, giving off nary an impression of brilliance.

By the far corner, there stood a grand old mahogany cupboard which housed most of the modern medical equipment. In the soft light, the solemn and silent wood was a grandfatherly figure watching over Hitomi. And to its side, was a wadokei that neither ticked nor tocked. It seemed to have been there forever – what many stories it might have to say, if only it could speak!

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

Then, there, over there, the idling tea-pot set sat untidily on the coffee table. Chairs were scattered about, where people must have sat. Straight from a scene out of a teahouse, traditional teacups were half-filled with various hues and shades. Vague sunbeams slanted down on them, and shimmer sometimes would the tea shimmer.

Closer, the white curtains that could be drawn over infirmary beds had been replaced with a foldable shoji screen. The light from the pale white paper, powerless to dispel the heavy shadows of the infirmary, was instead repelled by the darkness, creating a world of confusion where darkandlight were indistinguishable. Pausing before it, she began to forget the passage of time.

If she could, maybe she would have spent her whole life seated in the little wonderland, watching the world go by.

And right by her side, in a cold and desolate glow, was Kyousuke.

Finally, only Kyousuke was left, the one she loved.

Kyousuke sat down beside her on a chair, and took her hand gently. She reciprocated the grasp.

His warm, smooth hand felt so fragile. All that he touched, changed.

He asked her how she was feeling, and reminded her to take better care of herself. And after responding to him, she smiled as she usually did and requested to be left alone, for, she said, she was still too unwell to entertain persons and guests. She told him she still needed a rest.

Kyousuke had a smile for himself and, while softly stroking Hitomi's hands, with his eyes tucked downwards, he replied:

"I don't mind staying around to help you."  
"Don't mind me. I'm fine. You've missed enough lessons because of your injury as it is."  
"It's fine. I can catch up."  
"Still, you shouldn't skip lessons. Good students don't play truant."  
"But then there'll be no one here to look after you. What if something happens to you?"  
"Nothing will happen to me. I just fainted because I was dehydrated. That's all."  
"Shizuki-san…"  
"Everything's all right. Don't worry."

She smiled for him.

"Do you really mean that?"  
"Yes, I do. Please stop worrying."  
"Alright. Then, please tell me, Shizuki-san."

He immediately pounced upon those words with a startling quiet.

Kyousuke drew his gaze up to meet Hitomi's. With a pleading gravity in his eyes, he continued:

"Tell me everything right here and now without holding anything back. And ease my mind for certain."

Hitomi was completely taken aback. Her mind began to waver in uncertainty as she wondered whether she dared reveal to him everything, if there was anything to be revealed at all.

"Mou, Kamijou-kun, what are you saying?"

She chuckled coquettishly.

"Shizuki-san, is there anything bothering you?"  
"Like I said, there's nothing wrong."  
"Maybe not now. But this morning? What about this morning?"

Hitomi was silenced. She could not answer.

"What about it?"  
"Do you remember what happened this morning?"  
"Of course I do. What about the morning?"  
"It's nothing."  
"Then why did you bring it up?"  
"You just seemed rather out of it. And you came quite late. It's not like you."  
"I came late?"  
"Mm. And we had to rush to school."

At the reminiscence, a fond grin grew on his face.

"Halfway through, you asked me to carry you to school, you know."  
"… mm. I guess I was just sleepy."  
"Sleepy?"  
"I didn't sleep at all yesterday."  
"Ah? But why?"  
"A lot was going on."  
"What happened?"  
"A lot."  
"Ah, I see."

And then there was silence.

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

"Then, you'd better get some rest."  
"Nn. Thanks."

After that, Hitomi smiled as she usually did and requested to be left alone, for, she said, she was still too unwell to entertain persons and guests.

She added, after a pause: "I'm sorry."

And when she made eye contact with him, she could see the traces of a troubled expression on his warm profile.

Kyousuke's eyes felt lonely.

"Shizuki-san…"  
"Hai?"  
"I love you."  
"Uun. I know."

She smiled for him.

Kyousuke looked as if he had something more to say. But in the end, he only gave her a charitable smile.

Wishing her well, and informing her that he would drop by after classes, he left the infirmary, with the door soundlessly shut behind him.

And then there was silence.

It seemed so overwhelming that Hitomi could not even hear her own breathing.

She sat up, and looked around her.

The infirmary was empty, saving the sunbeams that washed into the room through the thin, greyish-white curtains.

Her own self and her own identity was fading out into a graey impalpable world: the solid world in which she had once lived and laughed in was dissolving, declining.

It was raining. It was not raining. It was raining? Hitomi could not tell. The light was all the same.

So dilute was the light there that whenever Hitomi had passed the infirmary by, no matter the weather, on fair or cloudy days, morning, midday, or evening, the pale, white glow scarcely varied. At the sight, she always felt like she was Urashima Taro, who in his bewildering anxiety, opened the mystic tamatebako. Did he think he would find hope? Maybe he did. He was shown hope in a handful of dust.

Still, she blinked in uncertainty at that dreamlike luminescence.

Have you not yourselves sensed a difference in the light that suffuses in such a room, a rare tranquillity not found in ordinary light? Have you never felt a sort of fear in the face of the ageless, a fear that in that room you might lose all consciousness of the passage of time, that untold years might pass and upon emerging you should find you had grown old and grey? Asking herself such rhetorical questions, she felt as if she were Alice who had stumbled down the rabbit hole.

All in the lukewarm afternoon, and just in time for the Mad Hatter's tea party.

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo! Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

Gazing blankly ahead the curtains, thoughts of her friends and classmates came to her. Madoka must have been lectured by the nice and well-aged P.E. teacher, who often gave deep and soul-stirring lectures: lectures so deep, they could make one minute feel like thirty.

If only I hadn't fainted, then Madoka would not have to go through all that trouble. And what time was it? The period after P.E. – was English Literature, taught by a finely moustached scholar of literature, who often made long and winding digressions to his stomach ailments and tales of Old Japan in the name of a haiku-style literary nostalgia. He would probably be late again, returning from his high-tea session in the central business district.

And perhaps in that time, Akemi Homura would excuse herself from the classroom, silently removing herself as usual. If it were so, then –

Then the sound of her soft footsteps could hardly be heard from even within the classroom, and the sound of lively chatter between her classmates, coming and going like the ebb and flow, lullingly fell in broken drifts upon Kyoko's sleepy ears.

Lethargic after consuming a heavy pre-lunch meal, she committed herself to lounging in her window seat. With her chin resting on a propped-up empty fist, she directed her line of sight outside – past the maze of staggered rows upon rows of gilded poles which lined the perimeters of all the classrooms, out into the endless expanses of blue at the ends of the world. It must have been windy outside.

"Mm?"

From a reflection in the corner of her eyes, she happened to catch a glimpse of Akemi Homura's flowing locks slink out the door. Unthinkingly, she followed after Akemi Homura towards the linkway – a connector between school buildings, with ceilings, floors, roofs, and walls all a tinted, transparent sky-blue glass.

Why? She wondered herself as she shuffled out the door. Perhaps it was because she was bored. Boredom tended to leave such a deep-seated sinking feeling in her heart. Due to the new repose she had earned, and with her soul in so great a degree nurtured by Sayaka's care, the stifling ennui of boredom felt much more intolerable than she ever knew. Now that she truly had something to live for, and that she crafted and followed her virtues well, it only seemed like she was all the better punished for it in the menial pockets of time where life just seemed to loll her by.

Why? She wondered herself. Perhaps it was because she was bored. Boredom tended to leave such a deep-seated sinking feeling in her heart and

then, at a distance, she spotted Akemi Homura, standing by the side of the hallway, canopied beneath the shadows of leaves of a great, gnarled tree that seemed to twist around the extended corridor. She was staring out. Into the brown-speckled mountains in the distanced, shining every now and then in a lackluster ease. Into the city sky-line, half covered in silver towers, both big and small, new and old, and half-covered in a lush greenery, all about the roadsides and neighbourhoods, with patches of parks and wild forests jutting out.

Why? She wondered herself. Perhaps it was because she was bored.

"Oi! Homura!" Kyouko called out, snapping herself out of her spiralling train of thought.

Akemi Homura spun around and paused at the sight. In the empty corridor, only a fuzzy sunlight ran down through the glass walls, blessing Kyouko in a soft and kindly glow.

The lazy afternoon lolled by out beyond.

"What is it?"

One strand by one, swirling and shiny dark hair, in the lukewarm afternoon light, and the small twinkling of her prismatic earrings.

"Where're y'going?" she asked, casually stretching her arms and back.  
"To take a walk."  
"Sounds good. Let's go."  
"Excuse me?"

And just as she began to stride away from the nuisance, Kyouko went ahead to block her path.

"Sakura Kyouko. Just what exactly are you planning? Please move aside."  
"Y' really don't get it, do you? I'm telling you I'm coming with you."  
"That is unnecessary. I can – "  
"But nothing good will come out of letting you go alone."

Akemi Homura raised her head and gave her a strange leer of appraisal.

Spots and blotches of light danced around on her figure, capturing her eyes every so often to make it flicker, flickering in, flickering out, passing on little touches of warmth.

To their left, the yonder cityscape stretched the outline of a ridge, a long, fuzzy shape like the back of some monster. To their right, Kyouko could make out the embankments below, a corner of which was covered with a thinning bamboo grove. The bamboos were silent, but the motionless leaves, looking as though in deep slumber, were haunting reminders of the melancholy of autumn.

And the trees, both far and near, though not fully clothed, were in that delightful state when farther beauty is known to be at hand, and when, while much is actually given to sight, more yet remains for imagination.

It must have been windy outside.

"I mean, I'm not sure why," Kyouko continued in half-seriousness, "but I don't feel like letting you go alone."

Pausing, with a sigh, Homura resigned herself to Kyouko's will.

"Do as you wish then," and side-stepping past Kyouko, she continued walking on, "I cannot stop you from relieving your boredom."

So, smirking, she set off into the afternoon together with Homura, shrouded in the swaying shadows of overhead leaves, peacefull, awefull.

"Oh yeah, where're we going?"  
"Sakura Kyouko. Which part of 'taking a walk' do you find difficult to understand?"  
"Ah! Yeah! Haha, right then! Off we go!"

* * *

Kyouko's loud, brash, braying-ass laughter echoed throughout the long hallway, way, way. Eeyoh! Eeyngoh! Eeygoh! Brekkek! Kekkek! Kekkek! Ualu! Ualu! Ualu!

"Eh? Kyouko?"

Sayaka muttered groggily as she craned her head up from her desk. With a sweeping, shallow glance, she surveyed the classroom for any sign of the glutton. Amidst the chatter and clamour of the class, perhaps Kyouko was making herself more than welcome with a clique or two and making merry with them, gathering offerings of food while she was at it.

And indeed – one blot of red hair, one bristle of white fang, one dose of childlike pig-headedness – Kyouko was there tingling around.

Just as she had contented herself with that and was about to lie back down into her slumber, from the corner of her eye, she happened to catch a glimpse of her flowing locks slink out the door.

"Kyouko?"

Sayaka turned her head to get a better look, but the sight had vanished, leaving in its wake only a comfortable sunlight.

Then she turned back to the crowd. No one was no longer there.

Grumbling slightly in an incoherent tongue, she got up from her seat and hollered out.

"Kyouko! Class is gonna start already!"

But she was still too far away.

"Kyouko!"

Could Kyouko be going to the toilet? Alone? To relieve herself? To have a honeymoon with her hand? Whatever it was, such suspicious behaviour of Kyouko's called for a thorough investigation.

Sayaka dragged herself towards the doorway and peeped out by the side.

"Geh."

By the far junction, Kyouko and Akemi Homura were huddled together peculiarly close – just the right amount of distance for two regular Japanese schoolgirls, in fact. But neither of the two could be considered as normal or plain, by any measure.

"What are they doing?"

The schoolgirl craned as much of her head out as was sensible for her, and she tried flexing her ear muscles in an attempt to accidentally hear as much of their conversation as she could. It was, quite surprisingly, to little avail.

All she managed to pick up from their conversation was:

"To… a… !"  
"What… mean…"  
"…move…"  
"…coming…"

– which, after some brief logical deduction, became:

 _"I'm Akemi Homura nano desu. You can call me Homura-chan. Kyararin! I'm going to become a magical girl idol!"_  
 _"What do you mean?!"_  
 _"I'll move back to Tokyo to fulfil my destiny as a magical girl idol of justice nano desu!"_  
 _"Then I'm coming with you! Kyararin nano desu!"_  
 _"Moe moe kyun~"_

Or not.

Still, so very suspicious. Were they going to have a honeymoon in the toilet cubicle? Who would be sitting on the toilet seat? Maybe Akemi Homura had coerced her, blackmailed her into it. Now, sit down. Take off your skirt. And whatever's left. Mm. Mhmm. Ok. Carry on. Don't mind me. Or this camera, for that matter. That's a nice face you're making. I like it. Spread wider. Use your fingers. What? Do I need to teach you how to? Try not to whimper too loudly. We're just beginning.

Cheeks flushed from waxing pornosophical, she watched as the two walked off and made a left turn.

Waiting until they were a safe distance away from her, Sayaka stepped out into the corridor. Standing on tiptoes, body crouched slightly, she pushed her side closely against the wall. Having thus completely blended into her surroundings and become oh-so-stealthy, Sayaka stalked off in pursuit. She fully intended to drag them back to class before the next lesson started.

* * *

"Sayaka-chan? Kyouko-chan?"

Madoka looked around, only to find that the two were gone. So too was Homura. Where could they have gone?

Still seated, she looked back and forth.

Soon, without much difficulty, she caught sight of Sayaka through the glass walls, with a bitter face of vengeful suffering and agony, walking as though she were constipated.

The dutiful Health Officer stood up and strode out.

She had it in mind to run for her childhood friend and lend her a helping hand.

But upon getting close, she hung back, hiding behind a pillar as she peeked out.

From a distance, she watched over Sayaka, while hopping behind pillar to pillar to hide herself, like a little bunny traveling through an evergreen forest.

* * *

"Hmm?"

Kyousuke watched Madoka leave the classroom somewhat gingerly. With a glance, he saw that Sayaka and Sayaka's friend too were gone. Were they going to the infirmary? He wanted to ask her.

Instead, he watched her exit soundlessly.

Shuffling about in his seat, he waited for the time to pass.

 _Tock._

 _Tock._

 _Tock._

And he looked at the clock. There was still time.

Then, up. And, out the door.

* * *

"Y'like to take walks?"  
"I do."  
"Hmm. Why?"  
"Because it is aimless."  
"Yea. Takes your mind off things, don't it?"  
"You misunderstand. I enjoy walks because they are aimless."  
"Haa?"  
"Life seems like nothing but a quick procession of busy nothings, without rhyme or reason, doesn't it? Taking aimless walks is just the same."  
"Huh. Living life with purpose. Sounds like just the kind of thing you'd say."  
"If that's the way you see it…"

The conversation ended there, and the two floated onwards through the cloudy, well-lit cloisters. Looking out at all the floating scenery, Kyouko marvelled at the sights – how she had passed by the gardens, fixtures, and winding hallways for almost every day of the past year or so – yet everything today seemed so fresh and rejuvenating.

Roaming voices of students' chatter, a warm wind running through her hair, the way the blue traffic light at the far end of the campus gleamed a well-worn graey –

All in the lukewarm afternoon.

Thinking that, a mysterious peace settled in the atmosphere. It was as though she had rediscovered some part of herself she had lost long ago, when she was a child. And together with the mellow strokes of age and experience as a soft pillow, she faintly mused if she had fallen into some Wonderland. And if so, then when?

Then, Akemi Homura abruptly halted.

A stern expression: pursed lips, leery eyes.

"Someone is following us."  
"Eh?"  
"Behind."

Kyouko peeked out through her peripheral vision.

"That shadow…"

It was behind the pillar: sneaky-peeky stalking shadow. Though well disguised in the veneer of the shadows of the leaves, the arched stone roof, the courtyard topiary fixtures, and else that surrounded the cloister, Kyouko could make out the unmistakeable scent of a killing intent from it.

"…an enemy… heh," she smilesmirked, and heaved gleefully.

"Finally."

Without warning, Kyouko stomped one foot down in a gallant stroke and sprinted towards it, forming plumes of gushing wind behind her.

"Wait! Sakura Kyouko!"  
"HaaaAAAAAA!"

Unlocking her limiter, Kyouko moved with such extreme speed that time slowed to a crawl for her. She observed a crouching stance, and pulling back her side as far as she could, ready to strike, she screamed out:

"MAKU TORUNEDO PAAAANCHI!"

She slid past the pillar and shot her glowing white fist into the sneaky-peeky stalker's side.

"ORYAA!"

But he twisted his body and missed it by a hair's breadth, hood fluttering in the high wind like a phantom.

Kyouko looked on in shock and awe.

"What?! How could you have grazed that?!"

She had intended to finish off her prey in one blow, but the enemy had proven to be more than mere small-fry. Time to get serious.

"No one has ever dodged my Mach Tornado Punch before!1!"  
"Uehihihi~ Is that all you've got?"  
"What?!"  
"Weak. Slow. You'll never hurt me like that."  
"Shut the fuck up!"

As she glared at the stalker with sharp, menacing eyes, Kyouko leapt backwards gracefully, and held her arms loosely out before her body. She had assumed a tai-chi stance, showing no openings whatsoever.

"…hmm."

With a frown in his voice, the stalker stopped taking her lightly. Preparing for a tough fight, he took on a stance that strangely enough also resembled tai-chi, perhaps due to an imagination deficit.

"Come at me."  
"Heh."

 _shuu!_

She lowered her body and seemed to slide along the ground, closing the distance between them.

'Nm! Fast!'

In strict time, the stalker tightened and quickly adjusted his posture to engage in Kyouko's full-frontal assault. He focused his attention intensely on the storming girl, waiting patiently for the opportunity to counter.

"Heh!"

Observing his subtle shifting, she sneered and flashed a fanged smirk.

"Y' screwed up, buddy."

Fast as a bullet, Kyouko crouched down and swerved to his right.

The stalker could not adjust his vision in time and Kyouko faded out for just one instant – one instant too fatal.

"Have a taste – of my MAKU TORUNEDO PARUMU!"

The dragon leapt up! Bubbling up from below like a fire-dog of a volcano, bellowing from the earth's depths with a symphony of magma, fuel, smoke and fire! One palm, one mighty palm to end it all. All the school building shook, as if about to tear asunder from the overwhelming force, and the whole province was blinded momentarily by the luminous recompense! Thus struck Sakura Kyouko – a flash of purple lightning!

Her fist shot out with such force that the impact of the surrounding air vortexes, swirling round her MAKU TORUNEDO PARUMU, that all the glass around her shattered with an ear-shattering screech, and the marble floor behind her instantaneously cracked and ruptured as though it had been in the epicentre of an earthquake.

What happened… was a miracle in the history of kung fu fighting: one of the world's oldest, most powerful forms of bare-handed combat, passed down generation after generation from Kyouko's Sino-Japanese ancestors.

The pinnacle of tai-chi, a decimating supersonic impact, was on the verge of shattering his crotch. The wild beast that was Kyouko's palm had been released out of captivity, into civilisation, where it would practically level city skylines and devastate all the continents into scorched earth in 0.0001 seconds.

By all accounts, it should have been impossible to escape, let alone see, but –

"Uehihihi! A nimble fist – but nothing more!"

Finishing a line that took over 5 seconds to finish, he slipped away from the blow, rotating his body like a ballerina.

"Tch!"

Kyouko's inertia pulled her along behind the stalker. The stalker spun to a stop.

They turned around to face each other once more.

Then the stalker smirked, and stuck his chest up high to laugh in superiority.

"Ugh!"

But he then grunted in great pain and his face transformed into a grimace.

His hand snaked down to his left thigh.

It was moist. A dark-red stain had begun to materialize there.

At that sight of weakness, Kyouko gave a haughty snigger.

"My Mach Tornado Palm draws air currents from all around me and turns them into subsonic blades. It strikes anything within a metre's radius from my fist and can cut through even reinforced concrete and steel. That means that even if I miss, you'll still be critically injured."  
"Hmph," he hmphed, "tis' nothing but a flesh wound."

With bloodshot eyes, he glared at Kyouko wrathfully, like a spirit from the blazing fire of Hell.

Opening his arms in the likeness of Mother Mary (Hail Mary! Hail Mary, full of grace! Mary, full of grace! Mary, full of grace! Hail! Hail, the Lord! The Lord is with thee! Blessed art thou among women, and blessed! Blessed is the fruit of thy womb! Thy womb, Jesus! Hail Mary!), he then folded his arms in the shape of a cross before his bosom and, twisting his legs such that pointed both feet together inwards. In that inhuman stance, the stalker closed his eyes and took a breath in. Then –

"AaaaAAAAAAAAAAA!"

He screeched like a bat. All his hair stood on their ends and turned a shining blonde, as a glorious golden halo exuded from every pore of his body.

"ZA! WAARUDO!1"

Even through his eyelids, Kyouko could see his irises steeped in a luminous redness, while the black of his eyes changed into an incomprehensible swirling pattern.

"TEIKU DISU!"

In an instant, he warped behind Kyouko's back.

The last thing she saw was a long vookvaryuudoutekiygrogorical cascade of his numerous afterimages.

"NANI THE FUCK?!"

He whipped off a quick jab, as though soft like a butterfly's flap. But a butterfly's flap of the wing too can generate a hurricane.

"MUDA! MUDA! MUDAMUDAMUDAMUDA!1!1!"

Schleppschleppschlepschschleppp.

A gatling volley of butterfly jabs shot into Kyouko, as many times as there were raindrops falling into the sea during a hurricane, aimed at all her vital organs and joints.

"ATA! ATA! ATATATATATATA!1!"

Kyouko's body floated in mid-air like a marionette on strings, unresponsive and lifeless.

"HUARGH!1"

With one final, audible strike into her solar plexus, Kyouko propelled through the long cloister, shooting past stone pillar after stone pillar before finally bouncing and tumbling across the floor.

"Uehihihihihi! That's one 'Ue' and five 'Hi's! Uehihihihihi!"

Shattered, she lay on the floor with all her limbs numb and weak. It was only her tough magical girl body that ensured she survived the otherwise fatal blow.

Gritting her teeth, she struggled to get up to her feet.

"Guargh!" she hacked, and coughed out a pool of darkened blood.

Every fiber of her body ached. Through sheer willpower, Kyouko tried to stand.

But the stalker strode up right by her. Smirking, he kicked her in the shin.

"Urgh!"

Kyouko fell crumpled on the ground, defeated.

Standing before her disgraced form, with one foot placed atop her head, he forced his weight down as she squirmed, and laughed as Kyouko grovelled on the debris-littered ground.

"This is it for you!"

With a mighty fist raised on high, his other hand placed on his hip, and legs spread apart in a V-shape, he laughed.

"Uehihihihihihihi! That's one 'Ue' and seven 'Hi's."

Slowly but surely, light around his clenched fist began to distort. She felt an intense gravity sucking her body and soul in towards the abyssal fist. And from high above the heavens, from some shining castle in the sky, a beam of holy white light seemed to pierce down through all the canopies of the Earth and into his body, revealing the thin-leopard print leotard beneath his cape.

"Farewell!"

His fist came crashing down.

For that instant, a divine light showered down from the sky, blinding all of Mitakihara.

And then there were none.

Dirt. Dust.

The entire school had been levelled to a flat wasteland. No sign of life, nor stench of death to follow the judgment.

The epic mortal fight came to an end –

But Kyouko was nowhere to be seen.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

The stalker whipped around, and – lo and behold, there was Kyouko. Her face – streaked with blood, and an unrestrained spirit flickering in her eyes.

"What!"  
"BAAAAAAN – KAAAAAAAI!"

She glowed a blinding white.

"ROSSO FANTASMA!"

Shouting with all that was left of her voice, dozens upon dozens of afterimages materialized and swarmed the stalker.

With utmost calm and control, his eyes darted about and he began slashing past one after another illusion with a straight palm.

And a greedy smile grew on his expression.

"Diversions! Nothing but diversions!"  
"Diversions for this!"

He swivelled around.

 **"TIIIIROOOOOO!1!1!1!1111!1!1"**

Squatting in the stance of a sumo wrestler, Kyouko burst into flames, pouring out from every orifice of her body in a self-immolating attack.

Her open palm stood ready and ripe like glowing ore, like cloud heavy with lightning:

a bow eager for its arrow, an arrow eager for its star –

a star, ready and ripe in its judgment, glowing, transpierced through annihilating sun-arrows –

a sun itself! and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in victory!

 **"FINAAAAAREEEEEEEEE!1!1!1!1111!1111111!1!1!1!1!1!"**

Earth rumbled. Collapsed plate by plate. Sky red. Fire everywhere erupted. Mountains leveled and cleaved in halves.

* * *

 _ **Klikkaklakkaklaskaklopatzklatschabattacreppycrottygraddaghsemmihsammihnouithappluddyappladdypkonpkot!** _

* * *

And all was ended. Everything dieded.

Not a trace left of Mitakihara in the aftermath. In the distance,

A hard fight won. For what purpose? To what end?

Nothing was left.

Only the setting sun.

Kyouko looked on into it blankly. She wanted to cry or something.

Yet, when the dust had settled, the stalker stood still, proud, tall. He was unhurt.

"No… no… _**NoooOOoOOoOoOOooOOoooooOOO…!**_ "

Horror. Shock. Dread. Ennui. Mother. Father. Momo.

"…even in the end, I have saved no one…"

Kyouko resigned herself to her imminent death.

'God, take me to a better place,' she prayed.

But as she awaited the final descent of the first wisps of snow faintly falling, falling faintly upon all the living and dead, the stalker had a seizure and spat up some blood.

Falling lifelessly onto the ruins, he heaved a sigh and said:

" **OH! MAI! GAH!** "

Then he passed out.

He was dead! Oh no! What a shame! How astonishing!

Or at least, that was one of many possible ways it could all have turned out. Miracles and magic do exist after all. Though, it went without saying, a miracle of such a cosmic comic scale was unlikely to ever occur. Don't be silly.

Nevertheless, Sayaka's delusions went all the wilder as she spied Kyouko's shadow inching ever closer to her.

 _'Yabai!'_

In a desperate attempt to be stealthy and shake off Kyouko's suspicion, Sayaka tensed up her body like a statue and scrunched up her face for extra measure.

Nevertheless, Kyouko strode on forth with aplomb to investigate the irregularity.

 _'Go away! Go away! Slow down! Stop!'_

And true to Sayaka's incessant pleadings to some deity or other, Kyouko slowed down. Perhaps she thought was probably just a randomly placed statue of a gargoyle that the school management had placed in the walkway. Not an uncommon sight at all, given the influx of donations and favours from charitable parents that befell the equally-charitable school. The school and its parent support network had very well-sustained relations. Sayaka knew that first-hand.

Reining her mind back from the digression, she returned to concentrating on being stealthy.

Ultimately, Kyouko stopped and, after surveying the surroundings a number of times, turned heels.

 _'Yea! That's right! The cafeteria's the other way! Get lost!'_

Seeing Kyouko return, Homura asked once more:

"Why are you turning back?"  
"Well, there's nothing there."  
"There is."  
"There isn't."  
"… why do you say so?"  
"There's just nothing there."  
"If that's the way you think, then there's nothing here either."  
"Haa?"

Sakura Kyouko cocked her eyebrows and tilted her head. Prepared to question, she turned her gaze into Homura's eyes.

Then she saw.

Didn't she remember?

She remembered.

In the midst of life.

They looked just remember like heremember father's eyes that day – not a shred of wide-eyed wonderememberment nor glorifying gratitude nor patriarchal kindness nor desperate deterememination noremember remember rememberrememberemebembrermedbmurderimebenmrbemtrbemresbrmemhmmbebremb?

Open the door.

Go ahead. Open the door. Nothing is stopping you. What are you waiting for? Tock tock tock. Knocked the door. Papa? mama? is there anyone at home? no one's home? no one replied. responded ah. maybe there is at home maybe they are. sleeping I smile remembering that do you remember do I remember and home and turn the doorknob. Alcohol. Common smell now a days. Wish he'd get off it. No helping that though, not me. All my fault. Be strong. We'll get through this. We always have. Son of god. Daughter of a son of god. God deliver me. Strong. The smell. Come in. Open the door. Light enters. And light enters and light enters god why and light and light and then blood dri

ppeddri

ppeddri

pped. Pooling.

Blood blood bloodbloddblodbldbobldbodbdobldbobl iwassoafraid so afraid ijustcouldn'tlookaway ijusti just i just froze and shivered and my legs couldn't support me and my father's eyes my father's eyes he is he is is is is he is he he is he

Sheyouiwe –

Fall.

* * *

 _ **bababadalgharaghtakamminarlukkedoerenronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnhoofermoyporterthunntrovarrhounawntooryzooskawntoohoohoordenenansakroidverjkapakkapukthurnukdunandurrathaok**_

* * *

Headfirst into her memories.

Yes.

Yes.

In autumn - the evenings, the evenings when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of spires and hills, and the pigeons fly to their nest in twos, threes, fours - specks in the distant sky. Those too are beautiful. Yes.

It was when the sun was setting and the wind was floating downwards blanketing all that lay beneath a mist a fog a live a long a last a lone the sound of the hum of the insects that filled my hazy vision only seemed to make the world at dusk all the more fuzzy, indistinct.

I opened the door with my hand.

I saw the inside of the room. I, I, I I I and I, I and, I, and, oh god I, I – I

and I saw the inside of the room

and thick water pipes like tree branches crawled along the walls and water drpping watr and

and a leather belt was tied to one and

and it was eating into a slender, thin white neck and and

and that pale neck was bloody with countless fingernail wounds and

and and above the belt, the face –

and a face swollen purple from cyanosis and and

and and the room and the animal cages and our pet rabbits and Papa and Mama and Momo red eyes red eyes rmebmrmmebredrumrmembmemememe me me me look at me don't look at me don't look through me don't look away don't don't don't don't ignore me the –

and the stench of the rabbits' food and bodies and fur and faeces filled the room along with a completely different stench from my father's asphyxiation then writhing then incontinence and

Papa!

He was swinging. Simple harmonic motion. The faint yellow ceiling light from behind him glared at everything. His shadow touched me again and again and

I moved quickly and precisely.

I did everything I could. I did everything I could. Right from the start, the very beginning, I was only doing everything I could.

Almost automatically. I I was pushed and onward by countless and tiny and explosions I and I danced and I writhed I and madly while completely all my tasks I.

I, explosions I. Broken. I, broekn. I was broken. Broken. My bones broke my flesh broke my blood my heart my nerves all brok my god mygod was broken my movement was entirely broken propelled by these tiny explosions. Magic. I tried magic. It worked. Somehow. It worked. It was a miracle. But

Everyone is dying and  
everyone is dying and and  
I'm breaking andnd  
I'm breaking andno  
no more no more more more no no

Ah.  
Ahhh.  
Aha – ha – haha – ahaha

* * *

 _water._

* * *

 **AAAAAAAAAAAHH!** **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!** _**AHAHAHAHAAA!**_ _ **AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!**_ _**H**_ _A_ _ **HA**_ _!_ _H_ _ **A**_ _!_ _ **H**_ _AH!_ HAA **A**! HHAAAA! H **H** HAA! HHA! HHA! HH **A**! Hha! Hha. hha. hha. hha hha  
hha hha hha  
hha hha h

hha hh

hha

hha…

Why?

Why? **WHY!** Tell me. Is it because I'm a witch? I'm a witch. I'm a witch. I'm a witch. Witchwitchwitchwitch – burn at the stake, by the sun's flaming sword.

How long? I cannot.

It probably lasted a second. But it felt like an eternity and and

and that moment became a massive independent object lying inside me never letting that space free open again never again never again again and again and

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

"Miki Kyouko."

Homura spoke.

Breathe.

Homura's eyes were kind.

Breathe.

In the gentle sunlight.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe –

Shadows of leaves.

Rustle. Rustle.

Whispered, murmured.  
Sang, lilted.

God.

"It sounds nice, doesn't it? Wouldn't you like to be a Miki someday?"  
"What're ya saying out of the blue..."

Turning her back to Homura, her head tilted up high, facing up, up, up, into the sky, beyond, outside, blue, endless abyss above, she strode onwards, saying:

"Let's just go."

And what was Kyouko looking at? Maybe that shining castle in the sky.

Homura gave a quiet smile, and turned to follow her.

Then Sayaka heaved a small breath. Homura swiftly brought her cold gaze towards the pillar.

"There."  
"Nn? What?"  
"The shadow. It sighed."  
"Eh? It did?"

Kyouko made an about-face and went closer to the source of suspicion, a clouded look in her eyes, as though hungry for prey, thirsty for blood.

 _'Yabai! Yabai! Yabaiyabaiyabai! Be still as nature, be still as nature, be still as nature, amitabha, namusan, namusan, Elohim, essaim, Elohim, essaim, shanti, shanti, shanti…'_

For those few seconds, Sayaka became multi-religious. The more the merrier after all.

She cursed her own lingering shadow for betraying her. She cursed Homura for having such suprahuman olfactory faculties. She cursed Kyouko for being such a busybody – hadn't her parents never taught her to mind her own business? Ah, wait – that's because her parents died. Lol.

'pfft – '

She snorted audibly.

Kyouko flinched and cast her harsh glare upon the shadow.

"Who's there?!"

She began inching towards Sayaka, now in high alert.

Quick, Sayaka – think fast! You can do this!

She cheered herself on as the gears in her brain spun frantically.

"Nay! Stand and unfold yourself!"  
"Haa? What the hell?"

Yabai. Yabai.

"B, because I – I am a puppeteer! A puppeteer upon whom's't'd've all unfold their souls!" she blurted out in a low, gruff voice, with a Mexican pronunciation.  
"The fuck, a puppeteer?"

At least that shabby excuse of an answer helped throw Kyouko off-guard. Attacking further while the enemy was still disorientated, Sayaka, the master tactician, the Sun-Tzu of our time, launched a battalion of thinly-veiled truths against Kyouko.

"A shadow puppeteer!"  
"Aha. And?"  
"S-See?"

Desperate and disorientated, Sayaka bunched her hands together and frantically wriggled her fingers.

"What's that?"  
"The burning Hellfire."  
"Uwaa! Waa! Wa! **Oh my gah!** You're a pro, aren't you? Haha!

Ha! Ahahahaha!"  
"Hehe, that's right. And I came here to tell you a story. Do you wanna see a shadow puppet story?"  
"I've got time. It's not like I really wanna hear it though."  
"Then I guess I'll go away and find more enthusiastic audiences."  
"Ah! Wait! I mean, since you're here, then you might as well tell me, you get what I'm sayin'?"  
"Hmmm~ Alrighty then – yoshi! Sit tight, kids. This – is the story of The Squid Who Said Something Bad.

 **Once** upon a time, or maybe twice – I'm not too sure – there lived an _Octopus_ in the middle of the sea."

"I thought the story was about the Squid. And why're y'talking so pretentiously and condescending?"  
"Shut up. Naughty girls and bad readers don't get their story time. Mmghhmmgh," she cleared her throat and repeated herself.

" **Once** upon a time, or maybe thrice – I'm not too sure – "

"Forgetful, now aren't we?"

" **Once** upon a time, or maybe fourice – I'm not too sure – there lived an _Octopus_ in the middle of the sea – the **big** , **blue** sea.

Now, in the sea it was very happy – because it had **lots** of _food_ , **lots** of _space_ , and **lots** of _sunlight rights_. It was **very** happy.

But one day, it saw a _fishing boat_ float past on the water surface.

And it thought: _**Wow!**_ I wonder what it's like to live on land!

To be _free!_

So, gathering **all** its courage, it swam **upwards** , and shuffled onto a _sandy beach_.

But it was **too** _hot_ , and **too** _dry_ for the Octopus to live. So it sank back **down** into the sea, defected."

"Dejected."  
"Yes, that's what I said.

And in the **big** , **blue** sea, the Octopus met its friend: the _Squid_.

The Squid asked the Octopus:  
'Oh Octopus-san, why are you _looking_ so **down** today?'  
'Oh Squid-san, I am feeling very **sad** today.'  
'What's _**wrong**_?'  
'You see, today, I **tried** to go **up** onto the _island_. You see, I _want_ to _**live on land**_. But it is **too** _hot_ and **too** _dry_ there. What should I do, Squid-san?'

 **Immediately** , the Squid tapped a tentacle on the Octopus's shoulder and looked it straight in the I.

'Octopus-san,' he said, 'You can do it. _Do it._ **JUST! DO IT!** Don't let your _**dreams**_ just be _**dreams**_! I know you. I know who you are. **You!** Are _**stronger**_ than this! _You can do it_. I know _you can do it_. So just do it. I _believe_ in you. I _have faith_ in you.'  
'Squid-san…'

Tearing up in gratitude, the Octopus thanked the Squid _prefusely_. Filled with courage and confidence, the Octopus _shuffled_ **back up** _**onto land!**_

And shuffled off this mortal coil. He died three hours later.

The end."

And he smiled smugly, as if he had actually done something with his life.

Under the rapidly strengthening sunlight, Kyouko's expression gradually became senile.

A dreadful silence hung over the two.

* * *

 **Thenthesunshonesunshone – bright!Bright! No matter. But suddenly; no matter. Why? What – suddenly –**

* * *

Maybe it had always been like that.

An invisible bird flew but quickly cast a shadow.

The shadow-puppeteer held his breath in expectation.

* * *

"What, that's it?"  
"Fufufuu."

* * *

He gave off a haughty laughter, not unlike the sound of screeching metal, pretentious singing, fingernails on the blackboard, or the cries of wretched and tormented souls who feebly spend their whole lives praying to be spared of their nightmarish existence but eventually pass away believing themselves destined for eternal damnation– not to Kyouko, at least. All so obnoxious.

"Not yet. The moral of the story is: **don't say irresponsible things.** "

* * *

 _Papa. A lot of people came today._

* * *

"Wait – what? I – "  
"It seems," she dragged her words on forcefully, "that you don't understand it right now. Not yet. Go back home, young grasshopper, and take some time to mull over it."  
"Home… mm – mmghmm."

In spite of it all, Kyouko, feeling altogether enlightened and affected, nodded in outward agreement and humble acceptance. Thoughtfully, she swivelled and dumbly glided away, still put off by the bizarrely cathartic ending.

Watching Kyouko muse so heavily on her hasty improvisation of an inane story, Sayaka bit her lower lip, almost doubling over in silent laughter out of Kyouko's foolishness.

But not forgetting to remain ready, stealthy, and vigilant, she had only to suffer in silence, holding her chuckles and keks within her diaphragm, spasming slightly and breathing heavily through her nostrils.

Behind her, Madoka watched on in concern, as she lay prone behind a pillar. From her field of vision, she only caught sight of Sayaka's back, while the girl in question made all sorts of strange arm and hand gestures in a distinctly constipated posture, as if she were narrating Austen's 'Mansfield Park' in sign language or an elegant haiku from Basho in semaphore:

* * *

 _Eaten alive by  
lice and fleas – now the horse  
beside my pillow pees._

* * *

Or maybe not.

Finally, watching Sayaka quake so violently in her shoes, Madoka could hold back no longer in wanting to offer her kind and much-needed assistance.

"Sayaka-chan!"  
"Madoka?!"

She looked back to find Madoka briskly walking up to her.

"Uwaa, I messed up," Sayaka cursed under her breath.

Then she spun quickly to survey Kyouko's reaction, fully knowing that her cover had been blown.

"Sayaka?"

As Kyouko turned back around, her red hair became filmy and undulated in the swirling wind. The strong wind outside turned her glossy hair into rapids.

A work of beauty, if ever beheld Sayaka, what with the undertones of quiet expectation and domestic love in Kyouko's dumbfounded and violently confused expression.

Glimpsing the sight, tears welled up in the corners of Sayaka's eyes. In that precious moment, only one pure thought crossed her mind:

 _What a stupid face._

"pff – ff – hnnghhh…"  
"Sayaka? Oi! Sayaka! You BASTARD!"

She stamped down to give her a running start and promptly tripped over her feet, stumbling as she tried to regain her balance.

"BWAHAHAHAHAHA! What an idiot! Kyouko, you're amazing, you know that? Amazing!"

By that point, Sayaka had lost all manner of self-control and self-respect. Clutching her abdomen in pain, she bent forward and positively split her sides.

The corners of Kyouko's eyes fell. Like a film in slow motion, Sayaka watched as Kyouko's face burst into a blood-red of friendly outrage.

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"

Kyouko dashed in front of Sayaka and, bringing her leg up high, stomped down on Sayaka's foot.

"Uwaagh! Ouoouhhh…"

Releasing one last yokoonoal gasp of pain, Sayaka collapsed on the ground in a foetal position, still convulsing in hilarity.

"Sayaka-chan! Kyouko-chan!"

Madoka rushed on over to Sayaka's side and kneeled down before her. Purpose, care, and concern all lay manifest in Madoka's eyes.

"Sayaka-chan!"  
"…hu…hu…huuu," she breathed erratically, no longer having the lung capacity to support her laughing spree, "so… painful…"  
"Aaah! Ehh, just relax! Mm! Relax, and take deep breaths in and out!"

Then, while still attending to the unwitting patient, she casted a sidelong glance at Kyouko.

"Kyouko-chan! Quick, let's bring her to the infirmary!"  
"The infirmary? What for?"  
"What for?"  
"Just leave her lying here to rot and fester."  
"How can you say that? Look, she's so constipated she can't even stand!"  
"Constipation?"

Kyouko shot a second look at Sayaka's face. Certainly, her face was scrunched up in pain and she mysteriously began gasping for air, sweating profusely, while tightly hugging her abdomen – all signs of acute stomach illness if nothing else.

Scarcely had she concluded that Sayaka really was sick, Madoka propped the schoolgirl up and had her slackly leaning on Madoka's shoulder. With a look of apparent apology, Kyouko hesitantly and silently slung Sayaka's unattended arm over her shoulders.

"Kay," Kyouko muttered, "let's go."  
"Eh? Where – are we – going?" Sayaka spoke in intervals, pausing to catch her breath every few syllables as her laughter died down.  
"The infirmary. Weren't you headed there? You were limping out of class so I thought, maybe, you might need some help getting there."  
"A-ah! Right, the infirmary! Ohh! Ah~ Man! But I think I'm feeling a bit better now. No need to go to the infirmary anymore, no need."

Wringing herself free from her captors' clutches, though with some seeming difficulty, she leapt and hopped and skipped and glade a step or two. Then she turned around and, placing her hands on her hips, announced:

"See? I'm all better. All good genki girl."

But then, when she thought she could snake her way out of the situation and beat a hasty retreat, Kyouko chimed out to her with a slithering tone.

"Non, non, non, Sayaka, madamoiselle. That's no good."

She flashed a fanged smirk and spoke with truly kind eyes that held no reprobation or scorn whatsoever.

"You don't have to pretend to be strong in front of us. Just face up to your true feelings."  
"Mm! Sayaka-chan, you looked so much in pain just now. Maybe you should rest in the infirmary for a while," Madoka suggested rather definitively.  
"Ah – no need for that, no need to go through all that trouble."  
"Sayaka-chan."  
"Really! I don't have constipation anyways. Never had it."  
"You're not feeling sick at all?"  
"Not at all! Not at all! Absolutely. Affirmatively. Inconvertibly."  
"But weren't you lying in pain just now?"  
"Well – so I guess I was feeling a little bit of pain, but nothing too serious. I just fell down – that's all."  
"Then why did you leave the class walking so uncomfortably?"  
"Umm – uhh – ettooo – "

Sayaka fumbled around with her words, darting her eyes everywhere except into Madoka's blindingly honest gaze.

Then from the corner of her eye, she spotted Kyousuke's shadow dangling from behind a distant pillar.

"Eh? Kyousuke? What are you doing here?"

He gave a small start and, at length, casually exited from the shadow of the pillar he had been standing behind.

"Ah. Hello, everyone."

After the stiff opening, he strolled up to the group with his hands folded behind his back.

"Is anything the matter?"  
"Haa? Matter?"

Kyouko stepped in between Sayaka and Kyousuke.

"Why didya come from behind us? Heck, why were you hiding?"  
"Ah, well – you see, it's just that I saw Sayaka leaving the class strangely, and I saw Kaname-san go after her, so I was just thinking that you all were going to the infirmary, and I was just feeling concerned for Sayaka, but it seemed like there was something going on just now, so I thought it would have been a bit rude to just appear like that, and I was still worried, so –"  
"Eh?!" Madoka exclaimed, "You were behind me all along?"  
"Umm – well..."  
"Did you – see them?"  
"A – ah, um…"

Kyousuke blushed.

"Ah. Aaah, mou…"  
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to – it was just a passing glance –"  
"Mean to what?" Sayaka asked.  
"Nothing! It's nothing at all," Madoka quickly interjected, face ablush, "now, infirmary, infirmary."  
"Eh? I'm perfectly fine."  
"That's right. She's perfectly fine – let's just go take a walk. Sick and tired of everything."  
"But the infirmary –

 _Drnrnrnrnrnrnrnrnnrnrnng ~ Drnrnrnrnrnrnrnrnrnnrnrnrnnrnnnng ~_

* * *

 _showering beams of gentler light like summer shadows, crowning the clouds with a glow of_

* * *

Aah! Class! Class is starting! We're gonna be late! Dash! She dashed away to her destination. Sayaka-chan! Ran off. Eh? Damn it! Wait! And sped unfettered into the misty distance. But the infirmary – his protest did not last long; he found himself chasing after.

All in the golden, lukewarm afternoon.

Did they make it back in time?

Hitomi wondered.

Maybe they did. Maybe they didn't. And what would that matter?

Maybe they never even left the classroom. And what would that matter?

She had gotten tired of spinning story after schizophrenic story. Nothing made sense anymore. Everything was wrong. Or maybe she'd just have to mull it over. Maybe next time.

Even as she imagined one turn after another, she could not help but feel a strange – this ease – rise up from beneath her consciousness.

Would Madoka really have gone through those tumbling digressions of thought during such a moment? Would Sayaka really have been silly? Maybe. Maybe not. She didn't know. Who are you? And who am I?

Didn't she remember? But memory is fallible, she knew just as well.

Silent. All was silent.

Still seated on the bed, she directed her gaze out the faded window.

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

In the far-out, it was a dapper grey colour that had drenched the skies. The wind didn't blow from the outside in, and she couldn't hear any a pretty sound but the small chirping of some lone bird, unfettered.

From time to time, small snatches of sunlight shone down on the adjacent buildings' walls and the world got a bit brighter. Shadows, however, were still nowhere to be found.

And the trees beyond, though no longer fully clothed, were in that delightful state, when farther beauty is known to be at hand, and when, while much is actually given to sight, more yet remains for imagination.

What do they hide?

What could they be hiding?

Beyond the browndery, what could have been hiding there?

An imagination? A whole country of imagi? Puella Imagi.

Gazing out, outside, **outside** , lugubrious into the trees, then into the forest, Hitomi, the seldom rays of light, followed, from the, as far as she could, sky. Windingunwinding. Straining her eyes, she gingerly, from, on the infirmary bed, her cross-legged position, sitting, up, rose off, centimetre by, closer, centimetre, edging, the windows, faded, towards.

The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.

Step by setp, utnil hes prsesed hre hndas no eth lhigt wdinows. Hre brteah, slhalow adn srenee, otno eth tralsunecnt gsals, an cyi fgo ferzneig lla eth wlord idsine-tou, cndnsd.

Then, things became mildly clearer.

Smiled, she smiled. She was tired. She smiled.

Today, the weather was lovely. Gaze up: clouds upon clouds folded atop one another like so many terraces, and every now and every then came through a clear blue sky. Looking forward, it went on for kilomiles. The roads, with cars and pedestrians all alike, ran deep in, disappearing. Bamboo shadows sweep the stairs, but no dust stirs.

Wide-eyed in wonderememberment, she followed those serpentine paths of light beams ascending down from shining castles in the sky. Arrows gently falling divine, like a riverrun. First, upon the trees, some gnarled, some straightened, all respectable, the light turned brown and green, painting some leaves brown and some green. Then, through the gaps they streamed, and turned a bit of red, blotch of blue, and all the colours in between, painting this and painting that howsoever was fitting.

But in the end, all the light sank back down into woodshadows of eldertrees. The forest was impregnable, pregnant with a sanctifying darkandlightness. Looking so intently, Hitomi wondered why she had never looked so intently into the forests of daytime. Maybe she had, but she didn't rmmbr. The selfsame nocturnal cradles of aflora, ainsects, animals, animuses, asound with nature's symphonies, were splendid all the same in brighttime, far more than she hadreamed it was when she lay on her bed and scared into the nightsky. Any further into the Gulistan, and she might well have lost herself – become a puella imagi. This, she new. Splace, rolling and revolving between her and her native heath, possessed and wielded the powers generally ascribed to time, yet in a way more so striking. From second to second, it worked changes in her. Splace, like time, engendered forgetfulness and thisplacement; but it did so by setting her abody free from her surroundings and giving her back her primal, unattached state. Yes, it could even, in the twinkling of an eye, make something like a vagabond of the pedant and philistime. Time, she remembered, was Lethe, a revoir; but change of scenery is a similar riverrun, and, if it worked less thoroughly, did so more quickly.

And when was the forest constructed?

It could have been in recent years.

This was how they did it: they levelled all the spare earth with a blazing fire and, batch by batch, planted the seeds with care and love. Thus they grew.

It could have been a part of the city's plans for urban redevelopment more than half a century ago.

This was how they did it: they kept only the largest park – naturally, the most mythicised and accursed, with the company of springtime lovers basking in the summertime of their lives and wintertime bodies as swinging pendulums – Tock. Tock. Tock. – in the winter wind, or floating ophelic upon the water surface, red camellias blanching– and summoned all the other trees of Mitakihara. So, in one breathtaking moment of magic that was since lost forever, they all stood up, and gigantic, stormed the roads pell-mell mag-mell, reaping destruction everywhere abouts as they sowed seeds of hope and reknewal, yes, before finally taking roots in the forest.

Or was it always there to begin with?

* * *

 **Bong. Bong. Bong.**

* * *

An evergreen eternal Norwegian wood. Older than time itself, straight from the country of imagi. Vast empty mountains, no one to be seen.

It had just appeared before Hitomi. Suddenly. Calm. Sleepy.

But then, by the corner of her eye, Hitomi caught a flicker, at the farthest parts of the known fworldest,

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

in its abysmal depths, a hint of some great, massive colour, imagical colour, blinking in, blinking out, blinking, blinking, blink. How wonderful!

Vast empty mountains, no one to be seen.

An imagnificent succession of vistas opened before the awed eye, of the jollemn, phantasmagorical world of towering peaks, glassworks and greenworks, into which Hitomi wove and submerged into: animated, animuted vistas that appeared and disappeared with each blink of the eye beneath the vast heaventree with everstaggering white cloudfoliage, ultramarine canopy, and the occasional twinkillating asterfruit.

Blinking. Green – or, snotgreen? Leafgreen? Emeraldgreen? Browngreen?

The light! Shine! Shine! Shine!

Rainbow!

Then, golden!

Rainbow eyes,

then, golden eyes.

Which? Or both.

Saw she saw.

Yes.

As she sees star she sees star, catch! No? Gone. With the wind, the windter wind.

In spring in summer in autumn in winter

Yes.

Then a butterfly. Flying. And another. Flutter. Tapestries of wings.

They drew her attention away from the alluring psychedelic patterns of the forest. Half-expecting them to land on the windowsill, and what next?

It was then that she noticed. She had been, for some time, staring at her own reflection in the faded window. She had been staring into her own eyes. They were deep.

Immediately, she turned her head away. The dread of autumn, the sun of fall. Hitomi felt such a sense of the impoverishment of life as gave her a slight attack of giddiness and nausea and made her put her hand over his eyes for a few seconds. Eventually, it passed. Slowly looking back into the mirror, careful not to peer beyond it, she perceived that her eyes were still a regular green. Only occasionally would a glint of sunlight perched upon the forest like a snipe pierce through the window and she could see the slightest flash of gold in the pupils of his reflection.

And she blinked.

Her fingerscolder. Reachout!

How long had it been? Staring at her reflection. Into her eyes. She smiled to himself.

"What a monster must be behind this window."

Dull aching pain. Pain? No. Uncertainty.

Gaze drooping slightly, fretting and rumimaginating. Then, yes. Looked back out to his eyes.

Hitomi, from her side, freed a shoulder, then an arm, then a finger or two, and snaked closer to the other person behind the window, reach out! Touch her. All that we touch, changes. And stepetspets by stepetspets, deep within the fworldrest, the one with rainbow eyes, the one with golden eyes, the one with green eyes, eyes, e yes, yes, ye, y, why? In contrast to her earlier sight of her that morning, she now presented a deeply syearene figure.

Doubtless it's because her face is raised, brave and daring and resigned, and her eyes did not so much as quiver away from her direction that her features were transformed this way.

Then she cast her gaze down. It was a long way down.

But beneath the railing, with its twisted patterning blending into the forest where she quietly streamed, the two butterflies fluttered upward, now drawing together, now dancing apart.

What are hiding?

The chill breeze had raised and tussled her unkempt windingunwinding hair, billowing them into straightflowing locks, she swiftly raised her eyes from the butterflies towards her eyes, suddenly. Hadn't it been said that the eyes are the finest thing in the human form? That is because it unquestioningly reveals everything, the good and the bad, incomparably vivid expressiveness.

But what are hiding?

In the greenery.

Guinevere had green eyes. Like yours, ozeu-san, like yours.

Her gaze pierced the air between them and fell upon her brow without a flicker of recognition or greeting. Were these the eyes that everyone saw? Tell me.

The eyes that fell in love with Kyousuke. Yes, charming! Charming! And in love? She asked himself. In love with? … With me! Maybe. Tu me manques –

But no more. No more.

She sat back down, snow, on the bed, dainty, snow, fragile, and plopped herself down above the covers, snow, cold, staring blankly somewhere, snow, snow, snow, snow, curled up, remembering the warmest moment she had ever known.

The innocence of childhood.

Cuddled in her mother's arms, warmth abreast, they lay on the bed in the golden afternoon, white clouds, soft wind, blowing. Beside, seated on a rattan rocking chair, her father narrated Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland in a lively sing-song manner. Soon, her mother fell asleep. Then, her father began to blubber, diffracted phrase after word, and slowly set down the tome. And too he went asleep.

Looking at their faces shining, Hitomi felt a warmth stir in her heart. She smiled. She was tired.

And in the afternoon, snow, the golden afternoon, when Kyousuke was to come back for Hitomi, snow, would he be smiling? If Hitomi were Kyousuke, snow, he wouldn't be smiling. If he were smiling why would he have smiled? To reflect that each one who enters himself imagines himself to be the first to enter whereas he is always the last term of a preceding series a complex dialectic of heterogenous factors even if the first term of a succeeding one each imagining himself to be first last only and alone whereas he is neither first nor last nor only nor alone in a series originating in and repeated to infinity forever incomplete so conditioned so determined by the signifiers of culture, so he did not smile.

Kyousuke stood outside, facing the infirmary door. Even though he was only opening a door, he felt himself waver slightly. He wondered how he should behave before her.

Dpp, dpp. A light rap at the door.

"Shizuki-san?"

Gymnopedic silence.

"May I come in?"

Kchnk. Eighgheiiii. Creaky hinges.

He crossed in.

"Shizuki-san?"

While walking to the window, he saw.

On the bed, curled up, peaceful, smiling, senile.

With her red-rimmed spectacles adorning her face. Pink hair tied in a long ponytail, splayed all over. And her pianissimo hairpin, gold.

Gold. Sunlight. Golden. Everything in the afternoon. Yes, from the intricate marbled cover pages of the infirmary's medical encyclopaedias, to the white steel bedframe, and to the windows refracting reflecting sunlight.

A side of her never to be seen in waking, a side of her she never showed anyone. Much least herself. Sometimes she would spend some time in the mirror. What for? Wasted. Her beauty is wasted. Only the most unnatural of expressions in the mirror. Mirrors are no good for reflecting.

He seated himself softly on the simple wooden chair by the bedside.

Fast asleep.

A gentle finger swiped at her bangs to unveil her face.

It would be her fortune if she were never to awaken. Media vita. Yet, it would be so sad if her sleep were to last forever.

So, smile. Smile. Kyousuke smiled. Hitomi, smile. Why don't you smile usually? Is it because of me? I wish it was. Then, at least –

"Mmm…"

She groaned.

Waking up? No, not yet. She is sleepgroaning. Kawaii. Like a baby.

When she wakes up, she will be embarrassed. Very.

Everybody wants to hide their defenceless form because there are lies in their normal selves. Self-deception, self-mythologies, self-identity: everything is at best an approximation.

So, while it lasted, Kyousuke took the time to bask in Hitomi's sleeping form. This is Hitomi at her truest. Precious Hitomi. If only she got to see herself in this state unseemly.

Ah!

Eureka! Or rather, Tanizaki! Or some other poet.

He slid his phone out of blue briefcase ah turn off the flash and so here and here and – snap! Photo. Blur. Again, repente!

Snap. There we go. I will keep it for posterity, my own.

"Mmmgh…"

Awakening.

She stretched her body stiff and erect, back arching backwards.

"Hmnghhhh! – "

Straightening her arms, wriggling her toes, writhing in foam-white, tumbling body rippling waves and creases on a static sea.

"Mmrngkao~"

She meowed, dipping her head into her chest, and brought her limbs all back into a huddle, warm.

Golden everything is. Golden.

The autumn breeze was rather cold that day; surely segueing into winter: pavane for a sleeping princess, courtly waltz.

"Hkchu!"

A little sneeze from the little princess. Happy little knitter. Shortly, her eyes half-opened.

Sparkling in the golden afternoon everything. Hair, face, arms, legs, clothes, bed, soul, mucus, door, tea, chair, world.

Then, he noticed an imagnificent bridge recently constructed, having shot out at speeds far faster than the Shinkansen, between her nostrils and the white of his uniform.

"Mmnyu, pfshsghhhh."

She sniffled, stretching the thread to its limit.

"Mmunyu – mmm~"

Squirming and shiffling, aeluroid, she huddled in closer to herself.

Heartwarming, while it lasted. Kyousuke smiled again. It must be warm there.

Carefully, he examined the adhesive trail that connected the two of them.

He hoped it was strong.

"Mm…"

Then, she opened her eyes. Eyes so clear, everything seen can be there. Everything can be seen there reflected. Face. Window. Light. Sky. Clouds. Forest. Gold. Golden. Green. Kokoro.

"Mmu – mm? Kamijou-kun?"

Her smile waned and cycled through various expressions before settling again into a smile. But it was not the same anymore. No two smiles are exactly alike. Nothing was the same. It is so difficult to describe. There are no words for smile other than smile. There are no other ways to explain kokoro but kokoro. It is so difficult to describe a human being. The myth of eloquence, long or short, falls flat before this ineluctable modality. Nothing can be said.

What is that brings our hearts together? What is it that parts them?

Sat up on the bed. Looked at Kyousuke for a moment, before noticing the sparkling viscous stain.

"Eh – ah! What, I –"

Fumbling.

He giggled.

Breath of fresh air.

"It's alright, it's alright. Hold on."

Handkerchief, snowhite, augury of the future. He bent down towards Hitomi, gentle as knight.

Their eyes meeting.

Was he going to kiss her? Reaffirm her.

A thin ribbon winded, wound between them, linking them through something that their gaze held true for the moment. Would it connect them through the ardour of destiny, lives forever entwined with roles and responsibilities towards each other? But a karmic bond that consisted of such a very tenuous thread was scarcely, after all, a burdensome matter. Nor was it any ordinary thread – it was like some rainbow arching in the sky, a mist that trails over the plain, a spider's web glittering in the dew, a fragile thing that, though marvellously beautiful to the eye, must snap at the first touch. What if this thread were to swell before his eyes into the sturdy thickness of a rope? But there is no danger of this.

Just a kiss to remember by. That is all. Just something to remember by when we go our separate ways, never crossing. ✝. I go the one less travelled by. You go the road not taken. And that will make all the difference.

But then she scrunched her face up and closed her eyes and it was all over and over again. Lightcotton handkerchief dabbed her nose softly, gentle as knight, kindness anew. Then to his uniform, a swab, disinfect. The bridge, the pier, gone – dirt clearsnot failure.

Avoice, sweettoned and sustained, called to Kyousuke.

"Arigatou, Kamijou-kun."

His eyes look lonely. He lovesd her.

What we cannot speak about, we must pass over in silence.

In love, there is guilt also. In loneliness, there is peace also.

The road. Mon. Bamboo shadows.

"Feeling better?"  
"Mm."  
"Much better?"  
"Mm."  
"Then, shall we go?"  
"Mm."

Smile.

Hand in hand.

She remained seated.

Hand in hand.

Smile, the greatest charity in the world.

"I'm sorry; could you open the windows?"  
"Which ones?"  
"The closest few."

He let go.

She let go.

Let's go.

But we wait for Godot, Annah – the allmazeiful.

Even if I understand that this is pointless, I want to carry on while clinging on to it.

If you truly love something, set it free. If it was always to be yours to begin with, it will return. How egotistical. This comfort: a miserable comfort for miserable people.

Poverty, dirt, miserable ease.

Kyousuke stepped off swiftly, his eyes coming to graey life as they passed a faint but broad sunbeam. A light here needed a shadow there: law of cycles.

"This one?"

He faced about.

She nodded.

And he faced back again.

His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly across the sunbeam in which he halted, in praise of shadows. Kyousuke always liked shadows. This Kyousuke, at the very least. The certainty of this assessment was great comfort, this comfort a great comfort.

Then, reaching out, he turned the handle and pushed forth gently the windowpane to the left of Hitomi's bed. His backwards gaze saw her falter as the sun stared into her clear eyes.

"Will this do?" he asked, turning.

A breath of fresh air, a snug sigh.

Sunlight warm golden flooded the golden room golden golden golden everything is golden and shadows appeared everywhere the bed, the cupboard, the chairs, the teacups, the tea, golden golden bless.

It is not raining (

Then the high wind seeped in, buffeting the room with all its autumnal warmth, causing curtains to flutter, Hitomi's glossy tresses undulated and danced lovingly in the swirling wind, light blinking in, blinking out, a green sea on a sunny day. Somewhere in the breeze, she could hear small waves beating softly against the shore.

Howling warm wind howling warm wind the musty smell of fall.

Cloaked by the golden afternoon, Kyousuke's figure receded into a clearobscure darkness, outline smitten by sunbeams, shining silhouette. His shadow was brighter still. And face, hidden, fuzzy, through the evanescent cloudy cerulean skies.

"Ah,"she could barely make out her own voice beneath the high wind, " Too windy."

Wincing gently, she swept one hand over her face to part the flow of her hair, allowing Kyousuke to see her face. Under the rapidly strengthening sunlight, her expression gradually became senile again. Sleepshadow whisper of a smile. Just as the autumn days would fade, this was how he knew her expression would gradually mellow into equality, with her smile melting away in the briefest of moments.

"-?"

A sunny daydalus. Too much in the sun.

Her thin, pinkish lips bloomed.

Words.

Howling wind howling wind.

Ineluctable modality of the audible: at least that if no more, thought through his ears.

But, by the movement of her lips, Kyousuke could understand what she was saying.

* * *

" _Suki?"_

* * *

In the wind, her words tapered off, leaving in its wake a blustering fugue of thrawn statements and jarring emotions rising from the bottom of unknown thoughts surging upwards to escape the glass ceiling confinement of her heart. They rose out of the abyss, unyielding until they have purpled Hitomi down into darkness.

Kyousuke smiled. Gentle, tranquil, ethereal.

* * *

" _Suki."_

* * *

Hitomi glanced down at her hands, fiddled her thumbs, biding her time.

Yes.

When did she fall in love with Kyousuke? There were countless times when she could have fallen in love with him.

When was it?

Where was it?

"It's been some time since … talk like this, hasn't …?"  
"Only a few days. A few days isn't too long."  
"… for me."  
"Pardon?"  
"It is … me."  
"I've … much longer for you."  
"For me?"  
"For … to notice my …"  
"… never showed them."  
"You never … at me."  
"I am looking at … now."

Hitomi smiled.

Then, he fell silent.

Kyousuke turned away and moved towards the window. Resting his stiff hands on the windowsill, irregularly intertwined at the fingers, he stood stately and alone. Looking out, he gazed into the forest.

"Sometimes…"  
"Sometimes?"  
"… mind."  
"Could you repeat … ?"

It was a sunny day.

Hitomi stood up and moved towards the light. Sun against the light.

"Sometimes, it feels like my feelings are being treated like an illusion."  
"…"

Stopping a shadow's length behind him, Hitomi gazed at the shadow of Kyousuke's back.

"Shizuki-san, I love you. You know, do you?"  
"I do."  
"Then, Shizuki-san, do you love me?"  
"I do."

He turned around.

"Please be honest with me, Shizuki-san."  
"What –"  
"I don't want to lie to myself anymore. We are not honest people. That much I know. I am not a fool. But, at least, can we at least please be honest with each other, just this once? Can we talk?"  
"What you are saying? Ah –

is it about the time when I ate your pork cutlet from your katsudon? Yes, I didn't take it, Sakura-san ate it, not I. If you're that put off by it, I can buy you another set tomorrow. Or I can make you a bento, actually – I'm good at cooking, you know? I don't think I've ever made a bento for you, have I?

But a katsudon bento – isn't that rather unhealthy? Not so elegant either. Let's have some variety – variety is the spice of life, isn't it? How about we make the contents of tomorrow's bento a surprise?

If you want to, we can eat on the rooftop. The rooftop is a nice, windy place, isn't it? Ne, Kamijou-kun?"

Again she lost herself in talk, and again her words seemed to be warming her whole body, and again and again and again.

She looked for his eyes. Kyousuke found hers, clearobscure mirror. He sweetly smiled, and he chuckled.

"Haha. Thank you, Shizuki-san.

Really. Thank you.

But, Shizuki-san, why are you doing so much for me?"  
"Because I love you."  
"In what way?"  
"Why are you talking like this? Love is love, isn't it?"  
"It is – but –

I'm sorry. I'm truly – very sorry. Please forgive me when I say this. But, when you tell me you love me, Shizuki-san, I can never bring myself to believe that."  
"You don't trust me?"  
"I trust you. But I don't trust myself. That's why – Shizuki-san – is it all a part of my imagination? That I can never get closer to you than an arm's length?"  
"Aren't we close already? Or you –"  
"Yes, I want to get closer to you. Because I feel like we are always drifting apart, five centimetres per second. Just like Sayaka. Shizuki-san –

Can I never get to know you? Do you feel lonely? I always wonder to myself. It feels lonely, Shizuki-san. I can never tell what's going on in your heart."

Kyousuke stepped forwards. He reached out. Hitomi swayed backwards, wincing.

They paused in silence.

"You see?"

"Why? What am I doing wrong?"  
"… I – I'm sorry. There's nothing wrong about you. And, I want to be with you, for as long as I can, Kamijou-kun. Believe me."  
"As long as you can?"  
"For as long as I can."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I – can't explain."  
"Shizuki-san… why do you keep drawing a

* * *

line between us?"

Silence. Outside, houses of decay, hers, his and all.

"...we can't be together forever, right? There's going to be ... an end ... someday."

She stopped to collect herself. And she began her next words straining softly.

"…I just want you … to be happy."

Kyousuke looked away.

"You – you make me happy."  
"It is only a meaningless comfort."

This comfort.

"… there is meaning in comfort."

Silent by her side – the words were not enough.

"If I broke my arm – "  
"Don't."  
"But if I did, what would you do?"  
"Stop."  
"Break it here and now."  
"Kamijou-kun!"

…

""  
""

"...

Kamijou-kun…"

Silent by her side – words were not enough.

The wind rose.

And as silently as he came, he left.

Door closed hush.

"– Kyousuke…"

Not a sound.

Except that he might, just might, be droning bars from Liszt's Chasse-neige, his transcendental Ave Maria. The grandest etude, Hitomi, in Liszt's oeuvre. Listen: music lies. Snowdrifts, ash.

His tuneful whistle sounds again, finely shaded, with rushes of air, his fingers waving about in the space, as if it were a piece for the violin. Some day, we will play it together.

This wind is sweeter.

She turned to look at the warm wooden chair.

Golden.

That chair.

Golden that chair golden light warm chair.

That

chair

that chair  
that ch  
chair

chair

that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair that chair I want to break it. I want to break it. But, no.

No.

Walking over to the abyssal skies by the open window, she looked up.

Golden, bright.

How I have sunned.

The clouds, very like a whale.

To whom it may concern, how might we deign to spend our days after my spring hibernation?

Then, turning, she caught her reflection in the window.

Who are?

Who are? Are Hitomi? Surely not the Hitomi who fell in love with Kyousuke.

Am I Sayaka-san? Am I Sakura-san? Am I Kyousuke? Am I Hitomi? Lui, c'est moi. But I am a fake. Not even human. Not human. No more.

Dead. I am already dead. History's nightmare long gone behind me.

Why am I still alive?

Should I kill myself or get a cup of coffee?

Ah, the thought of suicide is a great consolation: by means of it, one gets through many a dark night.

But I will not. I'm not dead. I'm not alive.

No. I'm not really here. Not really. Here. Here I am. I'm not really here.

I am a white bird. Soaring in the sky.  
Wind against my face. Amongst white clouds.  
White cranes. Shining castles in the sky.  
The starry night, the heavenly lamplights.

And I can smell the sea air, the weaver of wind weaving.

The rest of my time, I'm going to spend on the sea. And when I die, I'm going to die on the sea.

* * *

 _White bird,_  
 _are you not sad?_  
 _You drift, never dyed_  
 _by the blue of the sea_  
 _or the skies' azure._

* * *

No, you are not sad.

You are not really there.

I am not really there.

We are flying.

We are on the sea.

Hitomi is not really there.

Hitomi is at the edge.

The edge.

Howling wind howling wind.

Fall into the abyss. Abyss fall into her.

Hitomi is at the edge.

She takes a step. A step on which the dust gathered of her previous sojourns are never to leave. But not to go anywhere. She will not go anywhere. He will not go anywhere any more. She will not be in love with anyone any more, either with him or with him or with him or with or

or with him or with his gaze or with his smile or with his lps or in thought in dream he means happy never she will never

or with his hands or with his lps or

or this aster this aster happy she means

never there she will never

never anything

never

there

any more

and ever shall be.

* * *

 _ **E**_

* * *

The wind rose.

"Ah. You are awake?"  
"– Kamijou … kun?"

Hitomi rubbed her eyes and opened them.

Flexagonian: ineluctable modality of the visible. Still. No shadows. No escaping the ineluctable. Legs tucked. Numb at the back. A hard surface. Chair. When? Don't remember. Bed. This rusting world. Does it ever feel lonely? I am here. Shines warmly. Creased and crumpled. And the nurse? Gone. Never was. No one. No one else. Just the two of us. Are you smiling now?

Suddenly there before her, by the open window with the 青 skies and 青 forest as a backdrop, stood Akemi Homura, with something like an expression etched onto her face. Her cheek rested elegantly upon a raised hand, with her elbow balanced atop the ledge, as she looked down autumnally.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, however, this is not Kamijou Kyousuke."

Then she turned to look at Hitomi. Her gaze pierced the air between them like a laser and fell upon her brow without a flicker of recognition or greeting, like she was looking through her. Before Hitomi could recover from her astonishment, Akemi Homura faced back out, sighing in the direction of the day after tomorrow, leaving behind her the nonchalant ambivalence of autumn. Her two pendulum earrings swung and twinkled purple in the wind.

"Although it might have been me whom you have been listening to all this while."

Was this a dream too? Dreamtime: the time of destruction. The time when Hitomi could see multiple worlds, flexagonian.

That day, much later, in the afternoon, to judge by the colour of the light, Hitomi had come to again, in a shining blanched room.

"Ara – Akemi-san, gokigenyou."  
"Gokigenyou."

Up above, the sky was so cloudy that the sun only appeared as a vague, distant candle. A dull sunlight shone down. Everything glowed pale.

"Have you had lunch, Shizuki-san?"  
"My appetite is gone. Right now, everything I eat is tasteless."  
"I see. Rest well then."

Nothing was running. From the outside in, a warm breeze blew continuously. And the sound of the wind filled the inhuman silence.

"Ano – how long have you been here?"

Akemi Homura stood in contemplative silence, then with unmoving posture, tilted her head slightly towards the left. From the corner of her eyes, she caught Hitomi's eyes for a moment. Then, tersely, she turned back to face the outside.

"I've been in Mitakihara since a long time ago."  
"No, I mean, how long have you been in this room?"  
"Long enough. I've spent many afternoons resting here in the past. Maybe an accumulated year or two. Or three. I'm not too sure."  
"You know that's not what I meant," Hitomi chided cheerfully.  
"Do I? You make many assumptions, Shizuki-san."

She chuckled, and began to mazurka in measured caricature across the floor on sliding feet, to and fro between the meian that was revealed through the open window. Despite the playful frolicking, everything about her was flowing and tidy, from her succinct wit to the wisps of dark hair that glided in precise iterations around the edges of her figure.

"Even supposing that I do understand you, what of it?"  
"Oh, well – I was only wondering."

Hitomi looked down at the floor, terribly soft light. It was such an inhuman sight that she thought she had wandered off this world and into another – a world that had just been born.

"Were you?"  
"This is turning into a small interrogation, isn't it?"  
"Oh, well – I was only wondering."

Pandora turned and smilesmirked, glowing halo in clearobscure illumeianation. They caught each other in the eyes for that lone instance and shared a minor grin before parting gazes.

Again, Hitomi raised her head lightly and looked at her classmate, hoping to find any further hint of warmth or kindness. Was her skin always so pale or was it simply a trick of the light?

"Speaking of which, what brings you here, Akemi-san?"

Akemi Homura's eyes seemed to shiver and twinkle moistly, a sea of veiled emotion beneath a dead thesis. Yet another trick of the light. Then, she raised her eyebrows and gazed out into the distant horizon, remaining motionless.

Receiving no immediate answer, Hitomi diverted her gaze back to her limply crossed hands. They were pale stained and felt just as cold.

"I was feeling unwell," came the reply, at length.  
"Unwell?"  
"Just the usual – the need for some fresh air comes to me every now and then."

Saying that, she released a silent breath out into the open air. It turned into a white mist, hanging in suspended animation, and gradually faded into nothingness.

"That," she said again, "and I thought you would be lonely up here, all by yourself."

Words trailing softly ahead, she directed her gaze downwards tenderly, like the enlightened figure of the 'Willow Branch' Kannon bodhisattva – the goddess of mercy.

"–really?"

Hitomi's eyes turned to her and sparkled in the daylight. Shining castles in the sky.

"Do you think I am lying?"  
"Ah – I'm sorry."

Akemi Homura grinned mutedly, eyeing sideways.

"I appreciate the company."  
"It's fine."

She paused to puff out yet another breath. White fog, condensed, dispelled, lost. Winter was coming.

"I like it here anyways."  
"You do?"  
"It is quiet here."

It wasn't that late, but the streets in the autumn day were unexpectedly quiet.

"I like the sounds you can hear from far away."

Maybe it was because winter was coming.

"The shouts and noises of the students at club practice."

From the corners of the world, winter was approaching to box them in. Nothing would escape.

"The calls of the crows in the evening."

The snow that gently blanketed the world would absorb the sounds of life and motion and suffering. There is less suffering in the snow.

"The river running."

Even the many people who choose to end their lives in the freezing Hokkaido snow must suffer less.

"They're calming."

Their senses numbed, no more pain, no more impulse towards life, only warmth – warmth which slowly bellows up from deep within the body for one last comfort. Innocent Ophelia floating in the snow, returning to nature.

"This place is calming."

They die as soundlessly as the snow drifts down.

Hitomi wondered if, straining her ears, she could hear their screams of agony or the blubbering mutter of last words. But the most she could hear was the trains running in the distance, making a special sort of sound that could only be heard in the day. And the two pale figures in the room, though clearly separated in heart and mind, lingered on together, listening.

"You like the silence, don't you, Akemi-san?"

Still, she stared out into the distance. Again, that strange expression on her face.

Akemi-san, you too – do you dream that you could fly? A strange white bird soaring in the sky.

From where she was, Hitomi turned to look out as well, not exactly knowing what to find.

If dreams came true –

"I have to."  
"Why?"

Akemi Homura smiled. But it was more than just that. Hitomi couldn't exactly tell the expression which recurred to her face then. She seemed to be crying, but also laughing. And yet it wasn't a simple tearful smile. There was something about it which affected her profoundly. Despair? Regret? Grief? It seemed like even if all the sorrows of the world had converged onto a face, it would not be enough to express the heartfelt poignancy deeply rooted within that one tranquil smile.

After a few wavering seconds, she answered windily.

"Life."

Hitomi could say nothing.

Out they looked on in silence. Between the sounds of passing trains, they could hear the murmur of the sparse river long beneath them as it disappeared into the brightness under the bridges beyond. Blank gaze in the abyss.

Then the wind rose.

Akemi Homura closed her eyes and made a face of simple delight as her hair fluttered behind her. She was feeling the cool breeze as it caressed her face. All her cares were drifting away.

"Where do we come from?"

Akemi Homura stirred up thoughtfully and finally turned away from the outside to confront Hitomi.

"What are we? Where are we going?"

As she meandered through her speech and steps, her vision surveyed across the corners of the room, stopping briefly at every article of note. Hitomi followed along. This clock. That table. Those cups. There, the chair. Light, slipping beneath the wooden floorboards into the darkness. Warmth, sparkling, everywhere, golden. A golden moment untouched by decay or wealth. With an open hand she gestured, as if to catch whatever wisps of wind slipped away between her fingers.

"To these questions – do you think you have any answers?"

As she said her final line, almost as pleading as it was probing, Akemi Homura's gaze brushed past Hitomi's naked eyes.

Hitomi darted them away, back down to the ground, and she settled into pregnant pause. Her face soon softened into a picture of gentle reflection.

"Answers? I'm not even too sure who I am."

Who are you? Are you Hitomi?

"You are Shizuki Hitomi. Isn't that enough?"

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.

"It's just a name. We are not our names."  
"But it is as close as we can get to ourselves."

Bamboo shadows sweep the stairs, but no dust stirs.

"Then, who are you?"  
"Me? Akemi Homura. For better or for worse."

Akemi Homura's voice was oozing with kindness. Hitomi gave a soft smile at her ambivalence.

"Then does Akemi Homura like it here?"  
"Does she? Perhaps she does."

The girl with the shiny black hair smiled along tenderly.

Up above, the distant roaring of jet engines tore through the skies, punctuating the afternoon stillness with a dozing warmth. Hitomi looked up but could not find any trace of the plane that seemed to pass right over their heads.

Mountains loomed. Waters running clear. A brilliant disk floats across the infinite sky, and there is no sense of light and darkness, for everything is permeated with its presence. Not a speck of the world's dust anywhere, just the quiet beams – illuminating all kinds of people. Autumn after autumn, daylight comes and goes. And human beings will gaze within it for eternity.

Counting the days, Hitomi found that autumn too had come and gone like a dream.

"Maybe it is strange to say this, but it feels something like time has stopped here."

Perhaps it was the light that suffused into the room, a rare tranquillity not found in ordinary light? Her heart was at ease.

"Shizuki-san, would you like it if time had stopped?"  
"I – hmm, I don't know."

Perhaps it was an ease in the age of the faceless, a comfort that in that room she might lose all consciousness of the passage of time, that untold years might pass and upon emerging from the emptiness, her heart would be completely consumed as the cold snow engulfs the dead and buries the bamboo?

"Akemi-san, do you feel like time never flows here too?"

Blending with the wind, snow falls. Blending with the snow, wind blows. Hitomi stretched out her legs, idling her time away confined, drifting off peacefully, flying, like a bird, so proud, and free, where there were no boundaries, soaring through the endless blue – if dreams came true.

Akemi Homura little wrinkled her eyebrows, as though attempting to wince, and then spoke slowly, never once looking away from the outside.

"For me, time has come to something of a standstill anyways."  
"Do you think it's a good thing? Do you like it?"

She seemed mute as she turned further away, gazing towards distant sunlit clouds.

"I wonder."

The voice flowing from her lips seemed to become hoarse.

"Ah –"

Her face, ageless, shining in the sun.

"The wind feels nice today."

She sighed, and sat silent, shining in the sun.

She was glad, Hitomi thought, to rest in silence, uncommunicative; to perch in praise of shadows, to stare out into the sunlit clouds, their reflections on the river running, to rest at the most obscure edge of humanity. Who knows what we are, what we feel? Who knows, even amongst the most intimate of people– this is who I am, this is who you are, this is what we are, this is what is right, this is what it is and ever shall be? Aren't things spoilt, Akemi Homura seemed to ask, by saying them? Dewdrops on a lotus leaf lose their beauty in a water jug. With concealment, a flower is; without concealment, a flower is not.

Then, as if everything was about to die, a sudden stream of golden wind flooded into the infirmary, overwhelming everything in an unmoving sunny sea. Blinking in, blinking out, Akemi Homura's hair floated and danced and undulated and unravelled seamlessly strand after strand in wave after wave so beautiful golden yes like a candle burning softly in the daytime willingly fading without fear or resistance from the visible world.

Hitomi felt her heart clench and chest sink. It became difficult to breathe.

Then, Homura turned around. Her spectral skin, white as snow, shadows brighter than they were dark, the sleepshadow whisper of a smile, something like an expression etched onto her face almost permanently, cool and majestic, daylight, swiftly gathering darkness, she seemed to linger serenely by the windowhearth, then tread with the one measured step away, without haste, without bewilderment, truly the height of innocence. Her eyes passed in seeming indifference to the likes of Hitomi, neither burdened by her fears nor pitying her for them.

That instant, Hitomi felt herself ashamed and impure.

Gliding, Akemi Homura returned to the windowsill. And as quickly as it had receded, the limpid pale light washed over any traces of blossoming golden, heralding once more a world where time had stopped. A world with nothing much.

"To answer your first question, I have only been here for the past hour or so. As far as I can say, no one came. And no one has come yet. They have all gone back to class."  
"I see. Thank you."  
"Are you disappointed?"  
"Mm? No. Not really. There's no reason to be disappointed."  
"Nothing to disappoint, nothing to be disappointed about – nothing."

Nothing. Nothing to sin against, no one to hurt. Not much hope, not much despair. No you. Nor I. No more suffering. No more joy. A comforting anxiety. Maybe this world was nothing. Maybe the previous world was nothing. Maybe the next world was nothing. A world where nothing happeneds.

"Nothing is more real than nothing."

Wouldn't it truly be frightening if everything simply changed into another world? In the blink of an eye, before anyone knows, everything changes. Then who is to tell apart dream from reality? Where is truth? Then truth only exists in the past.

Who could guarantee that the sun, always sinking until the next morning, where it would rise up to shine on the nothing new, was truly the same as yesterday's? Hitomi had no answers. The questions too, she thought, had been garbled up somewhere along the line.

"That's an interesting thing to say."

If the world met with destruction and was resurrected along the next day, there would be no means to confirm it. Nowhere was there proof that the actual world and the world she recognised were one and the same. And nowhere was there proof that Hitomi was Hitomi. Who was she? What did she know?

Hitomi chuckled after replying to Akemi Homura. She rolled her eyes away to the furthest corner of the room, where the nurse's desk lay alone. There should be someone there. But there is no one there. It is what it is. But it isn't what it should be. What should it be then? Hitomi folded her hands together and interlocked all her fingers to keep them warm.

Having no other way to react, seeing no path forward, she sighed.

"Nothing to be done."

Looking from the outside to her hands, shining lifelessly, and back again, she repeated to herself: "Nothing." She was tired. She needed rest. And, resting, looking vaguely outside from the one thing to the other, that everbrown question which traversed the sky of the soul perpetually, that vast, the general question that was apt to particularise itself at such moments as these, when she soothed ineluctable modalities strained from frantically grasping at whatever might have been beyond them, waited for her, paused over her, snowed upon her.

What is the meaning of life? That was all — a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, but had unfortunately caught up with her all too soon.

But the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never would come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches starstruck unexpectedly in the cold dark.

Here was one. Golden. This, that, and the other. Herself and Kyousuke and the violin and the piano; herself saying, "Life stand still here"; herself making of the moment something permanent — however futile in the face of the rolling waves. Life, stand still here!

A flash of worry flitted onto Akemi Homura's face and she faced Hitomi – still gazing disconsolately out, her receding figure and slumping shoulders, hands resigned on her lap, nothing.

Nothing more could be said.

"Why do you say that?"  
"Today, I just feel a vague sense of insecurity about the future."  
"Are you thinking of picking up the pen and joining Akutagawa?"  
"I don't see why not. It might be a good choice for me to be a writer, wouldn't it?"  
"… perhaps so."

She said nothing more.

Hitomi hesitantly shifted her gaze to observe any further reaction from her classmate. Akemi Homura looked up, far out. She did not look convinced. But to begin with, what did Hitomi need to convince her of? Hitomi couldn't really tell. Perhaps she was trying to prove something to her, to herself. Something? Anything. Empty words fell on deaf ears.

"After all this, where do you plan on going?" Akemi Homura asked again.  
"After what?"  
"After you leave this place."  
"…I'm not too sure. First is high school. Then university. And after that –"

She hesitated. Where would she go? What did it matter?

Akemi Homura whipped her head around and, eyes veiled, veiled smile, and suggested:

"A life with Kamijou Kyousuke?"

Hitomi gave an unsteady laugh.

"Haha. I don't know. It would be nice, wouldn't it?"  
"You don't want to be with him in the future?"

She took a deep breath in, and exhaled. What did she want out of the future?

Having been born into this world, she had to find something – something to do, some reason to wake up in the morning. But what that something was, she did not know. She stood paralysed, alone and shut in by fog, hoping that a single ray of sunlight would shine through to her, and hoping more that she could turn a searchlight outward and find a lighted path ahead, however narrow – and so, like a bird, take off. But wherever she looked, there was only obscurity, a formless blur.

All she felt was a vague – somethingness, too subtle to put her finger on, too beautiful to set her sights on. What could be vaguer than the future? And what did she want out of Kyousuke? Nothing more than to be together with him? No, more. More? What more? What for? Her hopes! Her dreams!

Wouldn't it be nice? She who had found that she could not believe in fanciful thoughts of love, home, warmth, satisfaction, peace, comfort. She who could not help but spend day after day in a pall of gloom that she concealed from others even as she kept asking herself, 'What will become of me?' She who had already died somewhere along the way. What use would she have for hopes and dreams? Poverty and dirt and a miserable ease.

"That's not really it…"  
"Then what would you say it is?"  
"It's just that – I can't see myself in his life."  
"Why not?"

Again, Hitomi fell silent. She could not answer.

If dreams came true –

"Tomorrow never knows. We can only tell if things work out for the best when we get there, no?"  
"But…"  
"But?"  
"… I don't know. Maybe it's because I can't believe anymore."  
"In what?"  
"Myself."

She smiled. She was tired.

"Still, of all things, you love him, don't you?"  
"I don't remember anymore."

On her face, a faraway look, gently fading into nothing.

"Really, I wish. I wish I did. I wish I remembered. I wish I still remember. Really. I do."

Time passes.  
There is no way we can hold it back.

"I –"

Why, then, do thoughts linger on,  
long after everything is gone?

"I understand."

Eyes wide, Hitomi turned to look at Homura.

But she had already shifted her vision back outside, with a different look in her eyes. It was like some dust had gotten into her eyes. It was like the sun had glared too strongly. It was like she was tired. Or maybe it was just the light. Maybe it was just Hitomi. Ineluctable modality of the visible, much more than thought through her eyes.

Hitomi's mild surprise evolved into a strangled sadness like the cry of the skylark.

"How you feel, I think I can understand."  
"You do?"  
"I used to struggle the same way. For too many years."  
"And now?"  
"Now?"

The hollow word resounded in the empty infirmary. There seemed to be a kind of horrific, despairing undertone attached to it. Now? Who are we now? What are we? Where do we come from? Where are we going? No. That wasn't it. There was something more to it.

Hitomi felt a cold breeze blow through her.

"Now," Akemi Homura repeated, this time with a tone of fond finality.

All of a sudden, she let out a hearty chuckle.

"Hahaha. Now – I am thankful when I am able to sleep well at night."

On her face, a heartfelt, honest smile.

"But maybe this is for the best."

Again, the sky. A cloud drifted away and the room brightened. She tilted her head and looked skyward, to a place bright and new.

Secretly, Hitomi gazed at her with pity.

"I'm sorry if I've burdened you with all this heavy discussion. Honestly, I'm not even too sure why I'm telling you all this, Akemi-san."  
"It is no worry; I have heard worse," she replied, still looking out.  
"What worse have you heard?"  
"What worse?"

The ends of her lips twitched downward and she remained silent for some time. She seemed to want to laugh. Her eyes were sparkling with golden laughter. But she coldly lingered on each word she uttered.

"The agonizing screams of the love of your life as she begs you to kill her?"

As if retracing the steps of her life, in search of lost time, she stared off into the shining distance, in search of some path she could take, a narrow path to the interior she could sail away on, on a ship, a boat, rowboat, slowly in the night alone when there is not a trembling sound of earthly wants to be heard of around and the gentle tremolo of the asters and the lulling waves rock her as she drifts in and out of restful sleep, floating forever, forever floating, in the darkness to the land of no end with all time and otherness forgotten, how she felt!

"The sound of silence at the end of the day."

She concluded with a rusty voice full of painful warmth and devastating comfort. She seemed like an old woman, desolate in her strength, having abandoned the world, the moon as her only companion.

But the moon and the sun too are eternal travellers. Even the years wander on. A lifetime adrift in a boat, or in old age travelling towards the countryside into the years, every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home. From the earliest times, there have always been some who perished by the wayside. Was Akemi Homura one of them? Had she died on the road, journeying endlessly on in search of something unspeakable – home, perhaps. Love, perhaps. Peace, perhaps. Maybe she too is an eternal traveller. She would wander on forever in search of home.

Hitomi's eyes glazed over for a brief instant. Then she broke into a coy chuckle and smiled.

"You're quite humorous, Akemi-san," she said.  
"Thank you. It makes the days go by easier."

Akemi Homura turned and slid closer, tenderwinter in her eyes. She gazed intently at Hitomi, who looked away with something like a troubled look which seemed to have been there all along – mildly crinkled eyebrows, tight-lipped, a blank tremolo in her eyes. But above it all, therein still lay a sleepshadow whisper of a grin, devoid of any burgeoning spirit.

"Finally," Akemi Homura said gently, "you are smiling."  
"A-ah. I am."

Hitomi gave a sheepish laugh and fought hard the impulse to erase those newly realised traces of joy. She let her smile naturally fade away into a pursed repose, before carefully relaxing her whole face.

"You seemed troubled the whole morning. I hope this has helped to clear your mind somewhat."  
"Ah, thank you," she replied stiffly.

Then moving from the window, Akemi Homura took a chair by the opposite bed and shifted it over to Hitomi's side, a shadow's length apart.

"Do you mind?"

She extended her kind invitation again. Hitomi began to waver.

"No, not at all," and Hitomi paid a half-courteous smile in return.

Akemi Homura smiled and seated herself, legs tucked together, a hand flicking stray strands of hair behind her, almost demure if not the more coldly graceful, twin pendulum earrings in in instable elliptical orbit.

Then, stretching out to her right, she reached for the window handle, turned it, and pushed forth gently the windowpane. Gradually with the unfurling of cloud columns, Akemi Homura's shadow vastened. And as the day, pouring in through the open window, stared into Hitomi's clearobscure eyes, she felt herself falter and beneath the shadow she felt just a bit cooler the shadow Kyousuke?

"Will this do?" she turned to ask.

The wind rose. Gentle, tranquil, ethereal.

Golden? No.

Daylight pale everything the shadowsnowless room wind everything snow is a whiter shade of pale and everywhere the snow bed, the cupboardsn,ow the chsnowairs, the teacups, snow the tea, snow, snow, snow, somewhere quiet night winter icy wind suddenly snow soundlessly somewhere autumn fields heedless wind pale dew myriad unstrung gems everywhere snow around snow s

"Shizuki-san?"

now, Hitomi awakened from her reveries to find Akemi Homura looking at her. Kind eyes. Windflower smile. Don't look at me like that. Blinking, she gazed down at the wooden floor. It looked soft. And slowly, she shifted her eyes back onto Hitomi. Naked. Cold.

"Is there something weighing down on your mind?"

Hitomi looked into Akemi Homura's clearobscure eyes searchingly, but could not help but tear away, peering at the river below, before smiling broadly and giving a mellow shake of the head.

"Would you feel better sharing it, if it's not too private?"  
"…it's alright. I'm feeling fine."  
"Despite that look of pain you have?"

Surprised, she looked at her image, mortemirage, floating in the window. For an instant, with the boundless, boundless sky as her backdrop, she thought she could see herself again as a child.

* * *

 _Polished and polished_  
 _until it is clear, the mirror_  
 _reflects snow flowers._

* * *

"I don't have any expression on my face."  
"Exactly. You know, you look like 30 years have passed you by in a single night."

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

All day long, singing, yet the day's not long enough for the skylark's song.

White bird. Sea bird. Sky bird. Plucked feathers. Pluck its feathers.

"Ah," she uttered, as if she had run out of. But she brought herself to giggle and commented, "I guess I do."

Outside, flitting butterflies in the middle of a field – sunlit shadows faraway.

Faraway. The vivid unknown. The midnight sky. Snow. There is something. Magic that disappears that disappears. Life disappears.

"You can put your trust in me, Shizuki-san."  
"But I wouldn't want to transfer my burdens onto you. You must have your own troubles, Akemi-san. Otherwise, your heart condition wouldn't have relapsed."  
"My heart?" she asked before smiling shadowed at Hitomi, "'tis but a flesh wound. I don't mind listening. If anything, I'm sorry that I'm the one you have to turn to."

Pausing, she peered dreamily out the window from her seat into the cracked skies. All along the road below, not a single soul – only autumn afternoon on the graey earth. Still the sounds ethereal echo into the wind, ripples against sweeping waves.

"You can rest assured. I am inhumanly detached anyways, from all your sadness and joy. In fact, people have called me the Homutherapist in the past, you know?"  
"They have?"  
"You'll never know anyways, so I suggest you just take my word for it."

Hitomi chuckled.

"If you put it that way, I guess I'm not left with much choice, am I?"  
"It is best if you give up any thought of escaping me."  
"Well," she dawdled, and smiled softly, "I just happen to feel like airing out my thoughts, so this happens to be convenient for me."

Happeness.

"Now where do I begin?"  
"Anywhere you feel most comfortable."

Light.

I begin as a white bird, a sea bird, a sky bird, in the midst of ebb and flow and ebb and flow and ebb and flow and it is dark. It is stormy. Sun goes down by the side, peeking through the horizon, sunset. The skies were ruins, enclosing the whisperings of struggling down feathers. Clad in the roar of scattered light, we are flying. Wind tearing at my wings. We are flying. Away, as far away as we can.

"I – I have just been thinking lately. About myself. About us."

And then we plunge, never dyed, never dying.

"Ah, I would like to make it clear now, forgive me for my directness here, that though I am flattered by your high opinion of me, I am unable to accept your advances."  
"Eh?"  
"There is no inclination in me to pursue a romantic relationship with you, nor with anyone for that matter. This, I am afraid, is certain. I apologize."  
"No, no, what, haha – I meant nothing of that sort."  
"Hm. So you maintain that 'girls can't love girls'?"  
"It's not about that –"  
"Girls can love girls?"  
"I – "

I want to be far away. In a place that's bright and new.

"Which is it?"

Under the sea. I want to be bathed in sinking fish and sunlight.

"You say they can't, but you seem to be very invested in Kyouko and Sayaka's lives. Is it just that you don't believe in it?"

Cold surrounds me, but warmth boils from within. The brightness wavering above, illusions of broken mandalas. Snowbubbles are my speech, my words – blown upwards without a breath.

"Do you believe that there can be no such thing as love between women? That it is just an illusion – and to you, a worthwhile one?"

Life scattering beautifully. Dreams are a beautiful thing. Won't someone spread the ocean over the heavens?

Hitomi frownEverything is sinkinglaughed.

"It's not like that."

It's not like that.

"It was just a joke; you know that."  
"Yes, yes. I know. But you say you were thinking about yourself, no?"  
"Yes."  
"What about yourself were you thinking?"

Was I thinking about what I wanted to do from my birth to my death. Rise and ride the white clouds? What? Why? At break of sunrise, glistening white crane – utter whiteness. White. White bird, are you not sad? You wanted to fly to P'englai Island, where all the fairies dwell. First your feathers began to fall, then far from the flock his heart fell too. How you wished for your old nest, but your wife and boy never knew.

"I can't really put my finger on it. Life, in general."  
"What about life?"

Vast, vast the living waters, the Sanzu River flows, eastward always, ever unceasing, to the pure lands in the far west. Flowing like the lines on her hands, etched like destiny, the wealth line, the health line, the love line, the life line, all flowing like the Sanzu River, traced to no end. As long as you look, in time or splace, you'll never see it clear.

Hitomi smiled at her without any answer.

"Were you thinking of Kamijou Kyousuke?"  
"There's that."  
"Were you thinking of Miki Sayaka?"

She looked up at Akemi Homura with furrowed brows, naked eyes.

"Are you implying something?"  
"Your two closest friends. Some part of you was probably thinking about them, weren't you?"  
"I –"  
"Yes?"

For a time, Akemi Homura gazed at Hitomi benignly, scathingly, somethingly.

Don't look at me. Don't look through me. I wonder how it would be like if I didn't exist.

"I feel like there is always this invisible barrier between us."  
"A barrier?"  
"I can never get through to them. Especially Kamijou-kun. And it feels like he can never understand me. And there are times when it seems like they just aren't there. It seems like we're all so far apart."  
"Don't you talk? And spend time together?"  
"We do. But even then – I still feel this vague – unbreachable gap. I don't know why. And every time I try to speak, it's like this anxious shadow of futility fills my heart."

The wind rose.

"Maybe it's pointless," Hitomi said at last, feeling as though with this one phrase, she had captured all she had left to say and conveyed the meanderings her mind had taken her through.

Maybe it is pointless. Just a maybe, however. There was always the possibility of finding hope. But isn't that tiring? All she needed was rest. There was rest enough in giving up that 'maybe'. No need to struggle. It only makes drowning more painful. There was peace in surrender. Surrender to the vastness of that which we do not know and that which we cannot control. That is peace. That is warmth. That is love.

"But we must speak."

With wide and tired eyes, Hitomi looked straight into Akemi Homura. Akemi Homura had simply denied her with a cerebral declamation. Even as she said it, she was looking out, as if it did not concern her the least. Why? What was she thinking? I want to know. Is she dreaming? What is she dreaming about? Does she dream the same things as I do?

"We cannot completely communicate with others, that is for sure. We will never really know who they are. Their thoughts. Their views. Nothing stays the same, and nothing is more difficult to know. But the alternative — silence — is irreconcilable with human existence."  
"Then why must we be human?"

Akemi Homura turned around. Akemi Homura gazed into her. Her eyes. They smile.

Why must we be human?

Hitomi could feel the question burning in her eyes and her throat.

"Why not be something else altogether? A Buddha? A god? A demon?"

A white bird.

Flying.

For a time, Akemi Homura peered at Hitomi, as if expecting her to say something first. But looking down and out, she puffed out another heavy breath of smoky mist.

"…yes," she finally said, "Why not."

She frowned.

"But Shizuki-san," she said, as though she were addressing the wind, eyes consumed by the burning reflection of the sun in the river running, "don't you think it's sad for a person to claim to transcend humanity in order to assuage their all too human suffering?"

Everything was bright.

"It disgusts me.

I despise this sort of behaviour.

I like people who are satisfied with themselves. Looking at people happy makes me happy. I also like people who are always trying to overcome themselves. Even looking at people who fake it until they make it makes me feel empowered. Change must start from somewhere.

What I despise are people who struggle blindly – the blind leading the blind.

Those who don't even think about why they're suffering.  
Those who don't know what they are working towards.  
They are not transcendents.

And they are not superhuman.  
They are delusional.  
They are not truly conscious of anything.

I despise their attitude; they think that by working towards salvation, they will be surely saved. No, but they will certainly get the fruits of their labour, an exacting recompense.

I despise water that thinks it boiled itself on its own.  
I despise seasons that think they cycle naturally.  
I despise the sun that thinks it rose on its own.

You are human, all too human. Don't run away from yourself!"  
"i'm not running away"

Peeling her eyes away from the blinding star, she turned and cast her gaze upon Hitomi.

In the pale light she captured, a tranquil grimace. Traces of what had once been strong, full-blooded pangs of anxiety and deprived determination. Her hands slept crotched on her lap and her back still remained straight and firm. What once was an image of frigid elegance had given in to quiet deterioration and hollowed out to bland weltschmerz. There was no trace of a cicada's song in its empty husk. Above all, despite the strength of her words, she spoke fragile and soft like towering glassworks in the midst of an earthquake, toppling over one another, shattering, silver glimmer floating magic in the sky.

"Shizuki-san, do you really think that is all there is to it?"  
"I … "

And from her clearobscure eyes, peering strained on the floor, nothing more could be seen.

As the clouds drifted by, pale, pure light washed over them and receded, like waves beating on the shore. Like sea foam, neither dead nor alive, the residual warmth carried a tint of winter wind.

"Shizuki-san, if Kamijou Kyousuke hadn't healed, would you ever have gathered the courage to confess to him?"

Hitomi raised her head and her eyes fell onto Akemi Homura's silhouette.

"In fact, would you have fallen for him if it hadn't been for his accident?"  
"What are you saying, Akemi-san? I don't understand."  
"Do you just want to be depended on? To be useful? To be accepted? Would just about anyone have done?"  
"I –"

But then, her mouth left ajar, at the verge of releasing the first syllable, she stopped there and then. She simply looked into Akemi Homura's eyes, as if she had more to say.

"I'm sorry," she spoke at last, with leaden voice.  
"Don't be. As a people, we are just like that. There is no need to apologize."

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added under her breath:

"No, not to me."

And they went silent.

Time passed.

There was a distant but deep rumbling, and the trees in the nearby hills shook and moaned. Soon after, a gust burst in through the open windows and rattled the cupboard doors agape. The paper shoji screens, though all folded away, fidgeted about as though they would burst open and flower anytime. Green hair, dark hair fluttered messily about. Sweeping stray strands from her face, Hitomi's vision drew towards the narrow gap through the cupboard, suddenly sunlit. Within hung a small landscape scroll with a haiku scribbled on:

* * *

 _Wake up! Wake up!_  
 _Then we'll become good friends,_  
 _sleeping butterfly._

* * *

In the brief instance the gap had appeared, pale light like waves swept past the yellowing paper hidden behind medicine bottles and apparatus, rendering the inked black text a vague reflection of graeying sky – unreadable for the slightest of moments.

The cupboard then swung to a heavy close, rattling again. Beside, the wadokei perched on the wooden stand tipped over slowly and was about to sink softly, softly sinking.

But Akemi Homura, with swift sliding waltz, caught the clock with one hand, her lax straightened fingers barely touching it with their tips while it stood poised on the brink.

"Safe," she said in mild delight with a rising tone, gently pushing the wadokei back into position.

Their eyes turned to each other instinctively, before Hitomi pulled back and towards the broken time moved.

"You know, Shizuki-san, if you feel uncomfortable, I can always excuse myself."

The wind died down.

Nothing had truly changed.

In the aftermath of the gust, the startled tea on the table continued to sway gently in their cups to and fro. The shock had risen up through the water in a swelling wave that did not break the surface, creating instead a fine lacework flexagon of tiny ripples in irregular curves. Tranquil motion – tranquillity within tranquillity.

Hitomi smiled warmly. The dusky green of cedar leaves seemed to reflect her neck.

"Not when you have come here just to keep me company. I'm not so cruel."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Eh?"

From the corner of her eye, dotting the peripheries of the unperturbed river below, the wild cherry trees that steeped their calm reflection there wavered in the flowing water, stretching and shrinking, curving and twisting. Yet however the shapes shifted, they still preserved the unmistakeable form of trees.

"Can you really say that in clear conscience?"

Bamboo shadows swept the floor, but no dust stirs.

"You were cruel enough to break your best friend's heart."

Hitomi angled backwards and looked again at Akemi Homura. Akemi Homura was looking at her.

"Do you still feel guilty?"  
"Guilty?"  
"You knew Miki Sayaka had loved him for very long. Miki Sayaka, his childhood friend. You knew, didn't you?"  
"… of course."  
"Nonetheless, you confessed your feelings for him."

Too much in the sun.

"You're trying to say that I'm selfish, egotistical, aren't you?"  
"Are you not?"

As she said that, breaking eye contact, she lifted herself up smoothly and snaked behind her chair. Resting a hand on the backrest, she looked out again.

"I think we all are. Even our selflessness is simply self-serving sublimed. Everything is for none other than ourselves. But I believe that perhaps the form of these wishes transcends us as individuals; we would not be who we are without everything around us. Inside of us exists other people who forever live within us."

Warmly, softly, gently, comfortingly, somethingly – Akemi Homura peered down at Hitomi. Hitomi looked away, filmy eyes half-lidded, gazing indistinctly at the wall.

"It must have been hard on you. But even then –"  
"sayaka-san couldn't confess so i –"  
"Silently continue to live in her shadow?"

Hitomi looked up at Akemi Homura. She was waving a free hand out

No.

into the air, like she was to embark on a serenade in a boat on the sea calling out to a white bird and she sharply fixed her gaze behind Hitomi.

"Would he have been happier with Miki Sayaka than with me? Have I done the right thing? All my life I have been living under shadows – can I not be selfish just this once? Why do I have to hurt my best friend to chase my stars? Does he still love Miki Sayaka? Am I good enough? For whom does Kamijou Kyousuke play?"

Then, slowly, she focused her

No.

vision back onto Hitomi. Somewhere, the pigeons cooed softly together.

"Is that what you were thinking? Is that why you convinced yourself that love and friendship are two different things? Is that why you gave Miki Sayaka one day to tie up all your loose ends for you? But do you have the heart to call a friend who's stolen your man a true friend? And can you call love that has broken friendship true love?"

Daylight penetrated the depths of the river, but no trace remains.

"… really, I – I didn't know what to do when Kamijou-kun accepted me. I thought he would go with Sayaka-san no matter what."

Winter loomed over the horizon, but no snow falls.

"I wished he did. I still do."

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

"Therefore, you offered Miki Sayaka an ultimatum that day?"

Hitomi was silent; Akemi Homura's voice was inhuman, gentle.

"You really are kind."  
"Don't mock me."  
"Do you think I am mocking you?"  
"What else have you been doing this whole time?"  
"I have been placing mirrors before you, cracked and shattered, so that you may take a good look at yourself."

The sun shining behind her, she illuminated all there was.

"I do not care much about what you believe about yourself. But I believe that you really are kind. It is that kindness of yours that is suffocating. Out of your kindness, you did that underhanded thing to Miki Sayaka."  
"Eh? …you mean… what I did?"  
"Yes. It was very underhanded. You, her good friend, told her you liked the same person. And then you said, "I'm not going to confess until tomorrow, so go ahead and confess until then."Would anyone call that kindness?"  
"Would… anyone?"  
"Of course not. Why would anyone? 'I gave her priority, so that makes me a woman who values friendship.' If that is what you really think, you could not be more mistaken."

The sea. The sky. Flo  
ating.

"Are you sure you weren't thinking, 'There's no way Miki-san could go through it.'?"  
"No, that sort of thinki-"  
"Then what were you thinking? If Miki-san did confess first and they became close, what were you intending to do?"  
"Of course, I'd give them my blessings."  
"Really, now?"  
"Yes."  
"Could you calmly stand by the side as you watch them becoming more intimate with each other?"  
"I… I'm not too sure."  
"Would you really be satisfied with nothing but the pride of a caring woman who gave her friend priority?"  
"That…"  
"Self-sacrifice is not a virtue, but an end to everything."

Howling wind howling wind.

"To begin with, both of you simply assumed that the other would be accepted. It is one thing to face your true feelings, but another to attend to each other's true feelings – rather, isn't it that you are not even facing your true feelings? Do you really believe that you know yourself that well? People pretend to be more naïve than they really are – and that is how they relax from others. That is how they relax from themselves. But actions have consequences."

Don't look at me. Don't look through me. No, not now.

"Shizuki-san, is it that you don't remember love, or that you never knew it to begin with?"

Now, we are flying.

"No, no –"

High above the world we fly, shining wings against the sky. Outside –snow – ashes – all – houses of decay – the living and the dead.

"Then what is it? Your love is ill-defined. What are your true feelings now?"  
"… I,"

Not now. Not now. Not fear, not trepidation, not joy, not sorrow, not amongst all the emotions under the sun perhaps. Perhaps she truly was unfeeling. This vague shadow haunting her, always on the back of her mind, was perhaps a symptom of her disability to feel any more than a mote of the smallest change in mood. Her heart had, at some point, been lost. Then – now what? Now what?

That was it. Now what? What do we do now? Now that all has been said and done. Yes, that was what she had been struggling with: the eternal question: the pregress to eternity: now what?

" – I'm,"

At the end of summer festivals, when the noise of company leaves, and the life-coloured stands were dismantled, the atmosphere of celebration waning to reveal a deep-rooted vague sense of insecurity about the future, and the corpse of fireworks still somewhat discernible in the nighttime constellations while their empty cicadian husks lay shattered, chirping still echoing in the silver-pointed hills afar, she still felt the afterglow of fun and excitement warming her heart. But the wind rises. It becomes cold. The gaping emptiness that she felt after a festival always prompted her to wonder: what now?

Where do we go now? Is there anywhere worth going? Are we really going anywhere?

", I…"

How far into the future do we have to run – progress for the sake of progress – until we find that we can never shake off the guillotine of: now what? Restless, dying, always. After middle school, high school. University. Workforce. Old age. Sickness. Death. Everything in between – is a word left? We laugh, we smile, we cry – but what else? There is – more? No more. And ever shall be. Everything is hollow. Kyousuke?

Kyousuke is not hollow not hollow. Kyousuke – love? Kyousuke! Kyousuke! What if she, one day, waking up, looks at him, sees, realizes, no, thinks, it comes to her!

Now what?

She is with Kyousuke. So now what?

"…"

Now, let's do this! Now, let's do that! Life! Stand still here! Let's make something permanent out of this moment. We are alive! We hope! We love!

Forever! Raspberry Heaven! Yes! Now and forevermore! Forevermore now forever yes yes forever now who needs dreams who needs wishes nobody nobody of what use are dreams and wishes for us no need for anything any more no more no more I won't say thank you yes I'll put it away forever yes no need to say goodbye to anyone anymore and farewell will silently snow following a dream drifting forever and ever dreamerroraring no I won't accept farewell isn't it great that we're both too weak for that and I can no no longer hear the low clouds I cannot I cannot hear it anymore waiting waiting waiting in silence for the wind to rise and now what now what what now there is nothing no more no more I cannot why but this and yes no no more now now I I, , ,,,, - now I will fly I will. Fly fly I am a white bird a white bird fly I am a white bird!

* * *

 _White bird, are you not sad?_  
 _You drift, never dyed,_  
 _by the blue of the sea_  
 _or the sky's azure._

* * *

"I'm scared."

shining wings against the sky From the cold skies, she inched forward. whr the air is fresh and swete

* * *

 _She thought she heard faint harmonies bewitching like slumber,_

* * *

"I'm scared. I'm so weak. Every day is so much fun, I keep forgetting what I really am…

* * *

 **Slowly burning**

* * *

The world seemed still. and gracefully climb through the clouds All was calm. into the light

One day, Kyousuke… I… What's the point? All things must pass. Why? I don't want to hurt Sayaka-san. I know how much Kamijou-kun means to her.

* * *

 _and near her grew a murmuring like the broken song of a sad and gentle voice_

* * *

All was silent. up to a plce brght and new and yes Hope arises

* * *

 **Life dies like a candle**

* * *

What she's done for him, what she's done to be closer to him, I know. I know. I know she visited him in hospital almost every day. I know she spent all her time and effort to listen to his music. So she could understand him.

* * *

 _The innocence of childhood._

* * *

I know he always had feelings for her. I know. And yet, but

* * *

 **And never resting**

* * *

is it such a sin? I, I, I – just, yet, I – I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to live alone. I don't want to die alone. No. No more.

and at last I'm free Everything flows forward, advancing, never resting.

* * *

 **Time flows like a river.**

* * *

I want to be with Kyousuke. But in the end. In the end. What difference does it make? Why? God, why?"

if dreams came true –

* * *

 _Wouldn't it be nice if not everything was poverty and dirt and a miserable ease?_

* * *

 _water._

* * *

And then, warmth.

* * *

 _Then, as if everything was about to die,_

* * *

Warmth irradiated before her.

* * *

 _a sudden stream of golden wind flooded into the infirmary,_

* * *

"It's alright. It's alright. There's no need to be afraid. Everything's ok."

* * *

 _overwhelming everything in an unmoving sunny sea._

* * *

Akemi Homura wrapped her arms gently around Hitomi's head and hugged her, hands stroking her hair softly, warm waves caressing the shore.

* * *

 _Blinking in, blinking out,_

* * *

"N-no, no, someone like me – garbage! Why am I still alive? I'm – "

* * *

 _Akemi Homura's hair floated and danced and undulated and unravelled seamlessly_

* * *

She was tender.

"It's not like you have no right to live even if you don't become strong. It's fine to be weak. We are only human."

Tenderwinter.

* * *

 _strand after strand in wave after wave_

* * *

Hitomi's hands trembled colder and she held hands together and she fiddled her fingers unevenly frantic calm to keep them warm and she kept her head down and she

* * *

 _so beautiful golden yes_

* * *

"Why? I, I don't understand – why, why must we suffer? Why can't we all be happy? Why can't everything stay as it is? Why must all things come and go?"

could not hear the wind and she felt the soft warmth envelop her and she no no don't touch me no don't come closer I,, I,,,,,

"Does God like playing cruel tricks on us? I – I, I am a monster. Inhuman! I – cannot even love anymore."

The sky.

* * *

 _like a candle burning softly in the daytime_

* * *

Quietly, Akemi Homura brushed a finger across her face.

"You see this, Shizuki-san?"

The sea.

She held it down low to the light where it sparkled agelessly.

"This is yours. This is your proof of love."

Hitomi kept her head

Clouds.

drooped, chest heaving erratically.

* * *

 _willingly fading without fear or resistance from the visible world._

* * *

"You are not a monster. Your hands are cold, but your blood is warm. You are only human, all too human."

Lightly, Akemi Homura patted Hitomi's back and began

The sun shone straight down on their hands.

to stroke in slow circular motion – her touch, so light, skimming.

"We're only human. We're only human."

Hitomi clumsily grabbed onto the fabric of her skirt and she clenched her fists a whiter shade of pale, snow.

* * *

 _From the corners of the world, winter was approaching to box them in._

* * *

"No, no, I can't, I can't, no more, be with Kyousuke, I can't, but, I, but, but, I I – I w, want to be with – Kyousuke!

She felt as if she were scorched drowning.

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_ _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

On the beach where white waves fall,

* * *

It became as quiet as a night

* * *

 _Nothing would escape._

* * *

we all wander like children into every circumstance,

* * *

I want to– be with Kyousuke for as long as – I'm alive! I, I l,l – l, ove, him. I do. Yes, I do. Yes yes, I do I – I yes I l – love him and I I want to be together forever! Forever! Please, forever, let there be a forever.

when winter's icy wind suddenly drops

* * *

 _The snow that gently blanketed the world would absorb the sounds of life and motion and suffering._

* * *

A forever in Heaven or a forever on Earth or a forever in reincarnation god please forever and ever and ever, I don't, want this, happiness to end. No, I don't, don't I, I – just, I, I don't want this to end. Can't I at least hope for this much?"

and the snow falls soundlessly.

* * *

carried forward every day.

* * *

Powdered fire.

* * *

 _There is less suffering in the snow._

* * *

Her words were, with no attempt at covering themselves,

Akemi Homura reached down and held her lifeless body,

the bare soul of a human clawing away against the empty darkness,

tight

Hunched over, she spoke

hoping to strike upon the existence of some insurmountable wall

"Come what may, Shizuki-san, even if despair is all that awaits us, there is still the hope that we may confirm our despair."

cold

in a voice like ice cracking in a snow country.

– some evidence of a boundary.

Ice. Lava.

warm

Somewhere far away, in the autumn fields, when the heedless wind blows by over the pure-white dew;

* * *

 _Winter will come._

* * *

 _In old days – how long ago it was!_

* * *

In the moving wind, all was still.

"H, how can anyone be happy with that?"  
"Does it really matter?"

* * *

 _I remember a house that was lovelier than all the rest,_

* * *

to the right was a small field, and to the left persimmon trees stood along the wall that marked off the neighbouring plot.

Not a mote of dust on the reflecting window.

* * *

 _And the snow will cover everything._

* * *

There seemed to be a flower garden in front of the house, and red carp were swimming in the little lotus pond.

* * *

 _Peach and plum lined the little paths;_

* * *

"Man – does not strive for happiness. Shizuki-san, this is what I believe."

All was calm.

Ah. I'm drowning. I'm drowning.

* * *

 _Orchid and iris grew by the stream below._

* * *

 _The snow will freeze everything._

* * *

The ice had been broken away and lay piled along the bank.

* * *

 _There walked beside it girls in satins and silks._

* * *

The house was old and decayed, like the pitted trunk of a persimmon.

"We are not destined for happiness. Happy moments, yes. But not happy lives. As long as we are human, we are Sisyphus, cursed to roll his stone up the hill for all eternity."

* * *

 _Within there glinted a robe of kingfisher green._

* * *

Nature revealed itself in its last extremities.

* * *

 _The snow will hide everything._

* * *

There were patches of snow on the roof, the rafters of which sagged to draw a wavy line at the eaves.

I'm burning.

* * *

 _That was how we met; I tried to call her to me._

* * *

Golden emptiness.

"But even then, through it all, I imagine that Sisyphus is happy. The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a human's heart."

I'm burning aha.

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo! Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

"S-such a thing, such a sad, sad thing, I – I, no, I don't want it, never! Never, I, no, but, ah–

It was not midnight. It was not raining.

 _ **ba**_

Yes.

There was nothing **outside**.

The skylark

Yes.

sang.

There was no end to it all.

* * *

 _The snow will heal everything._

* * *

how the myriad unstrung gems are scattered

 _ **bababa**_

Yes.

Silently, Hitomi circled her arms around Akemi Homura's waist and then, she brought her hands to her own face. It was moist.

Salty. Seawater.

The ocean! The sky! The oc _ **bababa**_ ean! The sky!

I mean I mean meIan ImeI an

She looked outside. Flecks of black and white and black and white and white white white and. Look up.

everywhere around, falling faintly, faintly falling,

The wo _ **bababadalgh**_ rld began to drift straight ahead.

Oh, it's moving. It's moving.

She saw the falling star as a phantasm from an unreal world.

"Shizuki-san. Last evening. You were there, weren't you? You saw."

drifting, dying, yes.

That stiff figure, flying in the air, became soft and

Nothing.

Her head began to swims at th _ **bababadalgharag**_ e same speed as the sky swims into the sun swims into the world _ **bababa**_.

pliant whe _ **bababadalgh**_ n it landed with a white thunder on the white grass

Suddenly _ **bababadal**_ , a white cloud caught her eye.

patch, lying in sunset water, sunset water, sunset wat _ **bronntonnerronntuonnthunn**_ er, white Nothing.

With a doll-like passiveness and the freedom of the lifeless, the figure seemed to hold both life and death in abeyance in sunset water,

If Hitomi felt even a flicker of uneasiness, it _ **kaminarr**_ was lest the head drop, or a knee or a hip bend to disturb that perfectly horizontal line in sunset water,

Something of the sort must surely happen; but the body was still horizontal when it stuck the ground in sunset water, _**varrhounawnskawntoohoohoo**_

 _Ho_ _ **denenthurnu**_ _oo-hoK_ _ **kbababa**_ _Ekyo!_

People screamed and brought their hands to their eyes. Hitomi gazed at the still form.

When did she realise it was dead? Her heart was beating. Indefinable anguish.

The gasps and screams and sirens from all around seemed to converge in some other place and some other time. She decided to leave the scene to buy eggs from the supermarket. But as she tried to make her way closer to that thing, she was pushed aside by police officers who had rushed to cordon off the vicinity.

As she caught her footing, her head fell back and the orange-purple sun gazed into her thunderously.

* * *

 _That which heals, holds hope._

* * *

It is gazing at me still.

"I saw you there."

It i _ **hoohoordenenthurn**_ s gazing _**nkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunn**_ at me _**trovarrh**_.

 _ **akamminarronnkonnbro**_ The sun was _ **nntonn**_ white swimming _**nskawntooorde**_ white _ **nenthurnukbaba**_.

 _ **badalgha**_ A single snowflake shattering silently over all the living and the crystallised dead.""

 _So the snow will heal everything._

It is gazing at me.

The colour of the sun and the clouds swam in Hitomi's _**ghta**_ eyes.

"Is "that "why – """""

 _All that is and was and ever will be._

The river was white. The trees were white. A bird was white. """"Butterfly white. _**bababa**_ White. Wh _ **nnthunn**_ ite. White."

"Shizuki-san?""""""""

The chair was" white. Her" hands _**ghtakamminarr**_ were "white. Akemi Homura was white. "The tea was white the clock was white the the ward _ **onnkonnbr**_ robe white walls bed blanched white gleaming glistening white" white ah ahhh white. . … .. . " . . .

One after another", the whole world turned white."""""

""ah", ah _ **ababa**_ " _ **dalgha**_ h, ah"""hh _ **thurnukbababadalghar**_ hh"hh""

" _ **  
"**_

'

.

.

.

...

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**nntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenent**_ itsdark _ **hurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhoun**_ ahhhso _ **awnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrov**_ darkcolds _ 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**nskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhou**_ never _ **nawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtaka**_ isitcold? _ **mminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronnto**_ idarkwhn _ **nnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgh**_ aaaaahhhh _ **araghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakammina**_ areyoucold? _ **rronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnk**_ nonomoreneve _ **onnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenen**_ it'sok. _ **thurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakammin**_ everything'sok. _ **arronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunn**_ everythingwillbealright _ **trovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntooho**_ you'renotalone _ **ohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoo**_ now _ **hoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntooho**_ wakeup _ **ohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnukbababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk**_ wake up

* * *

 ** _clapclap_** ** _clapclap_** _ **cla** pclap_ _clapcla **p**_ _clapclap_ _clapcla **p**_ _ **cla** pclap_ _clapclap_ _clapcl **ap**_ _ **cla** pclap_ _clapclap_ _c **lap** clap_ _clap **cla** p_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _cl **apclap**_ _ **clapc** lap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _c **lapclap**_ ** _clapclap_ _clapclap_** _ **clapcla** p_ _clapclap_ _cla **pcla** p_ _clapclap_ _clap **cl** ap_ _clapclap_ _cl **apc** l_

 **Bo** _to-don to-don to-don to-don_ **ng.**

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* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_  
 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_  
 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

 **Bo** _to-don to-don_ **ng.**

 _cla **p** clap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _c **lapcl** ap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clap **clap**_ _ **c** lapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapcla **p**_ _ **clap** clap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapcl **ap**_ _ **clapc** lap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapcl_

 **Bo** _to-don_ **ng.**

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Tick.

 _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapcla **p**_ _ **cla** pclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapclap_ _clapcl_

 **Bong.**

Tock. Tock. Tock.

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

In the luminous mist, the sun was sinking; the myriad mountains were sunset.

As hurried footsteps clattered past the door, the shadow of a bird hung suspended from the sky. When the footsteps grew distant, it slipped quietly away and vanished, leaving behind the echoing ticking of the wadokei. Hitomi awoke, lying on the infirmary bed.

Hitomi had overslept, she realised. What had she gone to the infirmary for to begin with? She did not remember. To take a nap maybe. Five more minutes wouldn't hurt.

Nonetheless, turning towards the window, she noticed a single camellia blossom that had fallen onto the floor. It must have floated in while she was asleep. The sound had resounded in her ears like a dried-out tree branch dropping into a lake. Although she thought it might be explained by the day's strange silence, just to make sure all was well with her, she placed her right hand over her heart. Feeling the blood pulsating correctly at the edge of her breasts, she fell asleep.

When she awoke again, everything was still purple and orange. For some time, she gazed again.

The colour of the large blossom was a warm crimson colour. The colour of the sun and the clouds was a warm crimson colour. Everything was a warm crimson colour, cloaking thin threads of violet, the magic that disappears that disappears.

Then, as if she had just thought of it, she placed her heart next to her hand and listened. As usual, the palpitation was calm and steady. With her hand still on her chest, she tried to imagine the warm, sunset colour flowing leisurely to the beat.

This was life. Now, at this very moment, she held in her grasp the Lethe of life as it flowed by. To her palm, it felt like the ticking of a clock. But it was more – it was a kind of alarm that summoned her to death. If it were possible to live without hearing this bell – if only her heart did not measure time as well as blood – then how carefree she would be! How thoroughly she would savour life! But – and Hitomi shuddered involuntarily. She pictured her heart calmly beating to the coursing of her blood. There were times when, lying in bed, she would place her hand just below her left breast and wonder – who is this? Who is this knocking on my door? What if this knocking were to stop? What if it were never to stop? And which was the more horrific fate?

Dazed, as though afflicted by a witch's kiss, she wandered the streets of yesterday with those questions sleeping in her mind.

In autumn - the evenings, the evenings when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of spires and hills, and the magpies fly to their nest in twos, threes, fours – specks of bridges in the distant sky. Those too are beautiful. Yes.

Acutely aware of the stranger in her heart, she found herself taking a detour on her way back home, choosing instead to walk within the newly opened park. Swerving and bending, there was much grass on the wayside. She had decided not to pick up any eggs from the supermarket. And halfway, she heard a loud sound coming from distant heights followed by the silent streaming of water in the nearby stream, cascading.

A kind of warmth bubbled from deep within her.

Lifting her hand from her heart, she stretched her arms and looked at her hands, flipping them back and forth. She was satisfied.

At last, it was time to go home. Kyousuke was waiting. He might have been waiting for her by the main gate since the afternoon. He might have not wanted to disturb her sleep. He might have gone off on his own.

All Hitomi had to do was call him and there would be no need for further speculation. But there was something about not knowing that gave her a boost of adrenalin. Yes. She was on a grand quest – an adventure of sorts – to find her boyfriend again and everything else she had left behind along the way.

Looking in the window's reflection, she stifled the funny excitement from her face and only a small hopeful glow could be gleaned from her cheeks, if anything at all. But turning away and leaving the room, she could not hide it any longer and revealed a unique sort of raring smile.

It seemed to say: it is time to go home now.

"Ah, almost forgot," she chimed out.

She changed course and left for the classroom.

* * *

Gold.

Plain gray chair without backrest protruding from the floor. Minimal one-legged white desk. Glass walls. Not a speck of dust..

There her bag was.

Hitomi came out of the long hallway into the cold glassroom.

She grabbed her blue briefcase gracefully.

Then, taking in all the quiet scenery, she found Akemi Homura sitting on her seat by the far corner, head tilted, facing out, chin resting on the bones of her fingers. Despite the sunkist sky, the bottom of the faster fleeting clouds had purpled. Akemi Homura's hair seemed to flutter. It must have been windy outside.

Cloaked in twilight sky, Hitomi imagined for a second that she and Akemi Homura were both still figures floating, flying in the direction of the day after tomorrow.

"Akemi-san?" she called out.

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No response.

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She moved closer, stride smaller with every step.

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There was something about her that was something about her.

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At last, upon reaching Akemi Homura's desk, Hitomi sidestepped to the front of her desk to see her profile.

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A calm, carefree smile. The face of a person who has toiled long and hard.

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"Akemi-san? What are you still doing here?"  
"Thinking about a question."

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A bird's shadow was flying.

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"What question could be so difficult that even you are stuck on it?"  
"There are many such questions."

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It soared westwards, chasing the high sun.

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"If you don't mind, maybe I can help with them?"

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She looked at Hitomi.

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Then she closed her eyes.

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And in the darkness, she asked:

"Then, Shizuki-san, may I ask you this question? Shizuki-san, do you treasure this world? Do you consider stability and order more important than desire?"

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"… I do. But desire and order... I think desire is more important."  
"Why?"  
"Because order comes from desire. Without desire, without will, order is a dead thing."

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"Are you being true? Does this really come from the bottom of your heart?"

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Hitomi said nothing.

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"I see."

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"Well then, I suppose one day you too will become my enemy."

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"But that's fine. Even then..."

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"Aren't you going back yet?" Hitomi asked.

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"No. Not yet. It is quite warm here. I would like to bask around here for a little while more."

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Quietly, Hitomi waved a hand goodbye and walked away.

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Turning back a last time, she saw the firebird whisper itself away.

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Faraway, snow echoes.

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Le vent se lève,

* * *

As she turned the corner and approached the wide school gates – well-ornamented with new and old things from here and there, Hitomi recognized her friend, Kyousuke, standing by the gate. He was looking her way, but as soon as her shadow emerged from the corner, he turned to face straight ahead. Hitomi too, decided not to notice him, letting her eyes wander the thin-weaved cloud strands. He then placed his delicate white hands on his forehead as if shading his eyes, and he appeared to be looking up at something. He did not change his position until Hitomi bumped into him.

"Ah – Kamijou-kun!"

As soon as Kyousuke heard her voice, he turned to her in great surprise.

"Oh, you startled me! But I'm glad you're here."  
"Sorry. I wasn't looking ahead."  
"What were you distracted by?"  
"Mm – the thought of seeing you again, I guess."

As Hitomi spoke, she brought together all the brilliance her eyes possessed and cast the full force of it on him. Then she leaned forward somewhat and bowed slightly.

Kyousuke half attempted to respond to her coquetry and half held back hesitatingly.

"What were you doing standing here?"  
"I was waiting for you."  
"But weren't you looking at something very intently?"  
"Yes―those sparrows. There's one flying far behind the flock."

She glanced up briefly at the calligraphy skies, but she could not see a trace of anything resembling a sparrow. Turning, Hitomi immediately put out her hand in front of him.

"What's that?"  
"My hand."

As if he had noticed it for the first time, Kyousuke looked at it in detail and remarked:

"Umm, it's very pretty."  
"Ah, not at all, it's not much."

She chuckled at his silliness.

"Aren't we going?"  
"Oh, right. But where to?"  
"Where do you want to go?"  
"Mm…"

After he gently took her hand, she let him go ahead first and followed a pace or two behind him. The distance was just short enough that neither of them had to strain themselves. And then

* * *

the day had come to an end with nothing much happening.

Everything was dark and night and silver.

Shuffling onto her bed in her translucent grey nightgown, warm above the covers, she browsed the front and back cover of the tome in her hand. When she unpacked her navy-blue briefcase, she found it sitting there silently, wrapped in a yellow ribbon. Someone must have had placed it there by mistake.

The title was faded to the point of being unrecognizable, just flecks of gold embossed on the blue book. Yet, flipping it open, the pages were still a fresh parchment colour.

It was heavy, unhandy, but she did not mind. Hitomi propped it against her chest or stomach as she squirmed for a comfortable position. Her mouth half-open, she let her eyes glide down the erudite pages, upon which fell the light from a soft, aged lamplight, though she might have read, if need be, by virtue of the sunlight alone, the blue-shaded sunlight. As a glowing lamp, it shone behind her. Beneath her, city lights shrouded in a sea of clouds, blinking in, blinking out, like she were adrift on Fujisan. And before her, the moon, like a blade frozen in blue ice. And this aster, and that aster, and she

read, following the lines down the page with her head, until at the bottom her chin lay sunk upon her breast – and in this position, she paused, perhaps for reflection, dozing a little or musing in half-slumber, before lifting her eyes to the next page.

Hitomi probed profoundly. While the moon took its appointed orbit above the high belltowers and low humble splendours of Mitakihara, she read of happy little moments and obfusuffecating pictures of perfection, all in a winding, misleading prose. Nothing was hidden, but nothing was understood.

Something was quite strange. The world was strange, simultaneously tenebrous and clear-lit. Not just the world within the book, if it did exist, but the world beyond as well, if it– she tried to rationalise and impose structures upon it but the violence with which she was doing to the way the book was actually read only resulted in damaged simulacra. She tried to calculate meaning out of the fragments of character's experience but found none. There was happiness and there was unhappiness but she could not make sense of it. There were all the facts. These were all the facts. But why then was it that when they were added up, a total was born but there was no sense of how it came to be?

But that was the nature of life – or so it dawned on her as she continued reading. The world that initially seemed alien to her was, she realised, her own. The glass no window but a mirror. The strange person before her no one but herself.

Because beauty within beauty was not beautiful. Tranquility within tranquillity was not tranquil. Serenity within serenity was not serene. Wasn't that the ineluctable modality of the kokoro?

Happiness without objective correlate – wasn't that why Hamlet was a bad play, as per T. S. Eliot?

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

Still, she smiled.

Perfect pictures make people happy.

Perfect pictures make people happy.

Happy people make pictures perfect.

Yes.

I am here.

In the midst of life, we are.

Still, it was getting late. Her concentration: blinking in, blinking out, blinking. She yawned. Time to get some shut-eye; the narrative was getting long. With her vision faded, eyes sleep-crusted, she lay her usylessly blue book of eccles to rest gently on the empty wooden nightstand beside her and switched the nightlight off.

Feeling light, lighter, lightermore, she heaved a sigh of satisfaction and closed her eyes, returning naturally into a warm and comforting foetal position as her cat, Dinah, slotted herself into her arms and they cuddled loosely while outside the monorail soundlessly shuffled through the galactic railroad the various skipping-stone footsteps of wanderinghost salarymen returning home some no more sober no more in a dream than their waking everyday selves pitter-patter patter-peter pitter-pattering about the surface of the shallowateroads and the tsunami of chirruping crickets pine crickets bell crickets horse crickets by the hillside hokora off in the far distance behind the magic mountains gradually crept in through the carapace in through the slits in her windows – the incoherent, see-through mirrors – and filled her world, lilting, lalling, lolling, lulling.

* * *

 _Hooo-hoKEkyo!_

* * *

Life, death, like falling stars, can flash so fast, or else come floating, slow and silent, down.

* * *

 _Sunlight fell upon the water surface of the river, causing it to glitter with the slow streaming of water._

* * *

Still, in this world filled with warmth, her heart was unsettled

as though it were slowly dispersing, because

being allowed to be here

in this very lucky world –

' _From tomorrow on, I'll enjoy every day.'_

Every life is many days, day after day. She walks through herselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, sisters-in-love, but always meeting herself.

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Tomorrow will be yet another grand adventure of the mundane inexplicable.

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Even then, the flow of time subsumes all passions and all orders, returning them to a gentle, loving nothingness.

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* * *

 **Can you hear me?**

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* * *

 **You can hear me, can't you?**

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* * *

 **Are you asleep?**

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* * *

 **And you've been sleeping.**

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* * *

 **You've been sleeping**

* * *

 **Afterword:**

From the moment I finished writing, and weeks before even, I regretted ever expending the energy on this thing. Constantly, I doubted myself, if I really ought to just throw in the towel and waive this effort off. That I refused to stop and persevered like a cockroach without its head was on account of my iron-willed pig-headed stubbornness and an insistence to, having already started, continue in my erroneous ways. Anyways, it's dogged me for a year or so (in spite of my burning desire to just forget the damn thing), whether this really belonged in "Country of Sweets", where I had once put it under. Many times I came to the conclusion that it ought really to stand alone - on the sole grounds that I saw this piece as a bit of a travesty, if not an outright failure. I stopped myself from deleting it, however, because I genuinely saw bits of merit shining through - and what a waste it would be if I just chucked it all out. Neither did I remove it from "Country of Sweets" and install it as a standalone work since I didn't want to bring it any more attention than it had already garnered.

When I started on this, it had been over 2 years since I stopped writing PMMM fanfiction altogether. Though I had always felt a certain yearning to return to "Country of Sweets", I was not at all confident in my ability to write that sort of content anymore. That was when the idea to write "Homura-chan" struck me like fever, and I could not pass up the fire in my belly. Day and night, the idea for "Homura-chan" developed in my mind, eating at me from within - but still I hesitated to write, fearing that I might botch it up. I needed some writing practice beforehand - a stone to sharpen the old blade with.

This, essentially, is how this thing here came about. Originally, this thing here was merely floating around as a thought for the next "Country of Sweets" chapter - its working title, "Heroic Hitomi", and the focus of which was to be on the three-sided relationship of Kyousuke, Hitomi, and Sayaka, honing in specifically on a juxtaposition of Hitomi and Sayaka's characterisations. I had it estimated at a rough 10k words, and my schema from the time tells me that it was already going to be quite complex. That was then.

By the time I picked up the metaphorical pen again, I was filled with 2 years of pent-up study and raring energy. I had forgotten why I had written Country of Sweets in the first place - I had forgotten why I wrote at all. All that was left before was indeed just an idea, one which I saw fit to use something of an etude for myself to dash out whatever style I wanted. Granted, that was not the only reason. I still wanted to do good by "Country of Sweets"; and I hated the idea of putting out a piece which I clearly did not put my heart into. And somewhere along the line, I had the idea to whip something avant-garde - so obscure that it'd be difficult to make heads or tails of it, a tale without a beginning, a middle, an end, a plot, "correct" grammar, consistent characterisations, stable setting - something that was not meant to so much to be understood but instead felt (or ridiculed). I wanted to paint an epic picture in words and I wrote it as if I were "writing" a haiku, shaseibun at its extreme. Then I suffered a wee bit of a breakdown, and it struck me to attempt the writing as if it were a fugue. In both the medical and musical senses of the word, my idea for this work seemed to fit to a tee. And when the actual writing began, I threw all caution to the wind and plowed on, filling pages after pages of scribbles where I mapped out every last consideration, writing with surgical detail while I conveniently left the overarching picture I was painting. In short, I had flung down a natural disaster onto the canvas of my work and simply hoped that by some divine miracle, all would be arranged in rightful place. Never have I been more mistaken.

As the writing of this thing dragged on, so too did it sap me of all my energy and all my free time. I quickly strayed away from my ideal for this thing to be an extension of "Country of Sweets". "Country of Sweets" was to me like a long series of prayers, like maybe a Bach Passion. This thing on the other hand... well, I don't want to go there. To put it another way, I had betrayed my original intentions. And I knew very well what was happening, but I couldn't stop. I simply wanted to see where it would take me. So you can tell that the writing really does go overboard on many occasions. But the writing itself, however impossibly dense and meandering it gets, I was quite delighted in, actually. There's many parts I'm happy to say I wrote, strictly from a "pedantic prose" perspective. What I truly find deplorable about this thing is how marred it is by blatant artificiality. The characters seemed to dangle lifelessly from the strings of ideas about them — they felt ingenuine and failed to move me. I tried too hard, it seemed. The technical aspect of this work had, in my eyes, consumed it completely. It was like a Chopin etude with less melodic interest than a Czerny, more taxing than a Liszt, more difficult to coordinate than Bach, harder to appreciate than Sorabji (Sorabji's good tho imo). My first impression really was: "Oh look! It's a piece of shit!" And I laughed to myself. I've since mellowed out my opinion and resolved that if I cannot think better of this work, I can at least not think of it all. Of course, maybe I'm just being overly harsh on myself as usual - seeing only the negative of my stuff is my modus operandi. But to think otherwise would be complacency on my part; I would gladly err on the side of self-esteem-reducing-caution.

6 months of writing every day, I'm not too sure if the results were worth it. I think one day, I'll try out something like this again - with my head on proper too. In spite of it all, I can't say I didn't enjoy the ride. I still detest this thing though.


End file.
